


Unconscious Incompetence

by Winds_of_Inspiration10



Series: Stages of Learning [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - High School, Cartman Being Cartman, Coming of Age, Developing Relationships, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Freshman Year, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Genderqueer Character, Humor, Kenny dies a lot, Kenny's immortality is Canon, M/M, Mystery, Offensiveness as Expected, POV First Person, Part one of four, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, References to Drugs, Revenge, Romantic Subplots, Series, Sexual Content, Six POV Characters, TW: Mentions of child abuse in some chapters, Underage Drinking, surprise antagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:16:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3730318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winds_of_Inspiration10/pseuds/Winds_of_Inspiration10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9th Grade: Cartman and Wendy make a bet. Butters has an identity crisis. Stan refuses to believe he's having an identity crisis. Kenny decides having a future might be worth it. Kyle just wants to get out of this mountain town for good... And someone wants revenge.<br/>First installment of the "Stages of Learning" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kyle- Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so before you begin, you should know that concerning the chronology of this fic, every six chapters will take place during a season of the year told from the first person perspective of these six main characters each so some events might be repeated from a different perspective and what not and not necessarily happening in order, but nonetheless I hope it doesn't get too confusing for anyone.  
> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux! 
> 
> I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

  **I. Kyle- Fall**

_**In which Kyle begins things with a disastrous Justice League Halloween.** _

 

           If anyone were to ask about what kind of town South Park, Colorado is, most would probably describe it as being “a quaint little mountain town” and or “another one of those drive-through hick towns.”  But that would only be the case if one never actually _stayed_ in South Park for at least a week.

           Now if someone were to ask a _resident_ of South Park to describe it, I promise you the answer would be... less than conventional, to put it lightly.

           I would describe it this way: if there were a word in existence that perfectly embodied “absolutely insane” and “completely fucked up”, then that one word would be my answer.

          I can only guess when it all started.  Maybe it was when my friends and I played that rueful game of “Fireman” back in kindergarten or that disastrous visit from Kathy Lee Gifford...

           Let's just say my friends and I have had some bizarre misadventures over the years. Those misadventures took place during our time in late elementary and early middle school.  But that was a while ago; we’re in high school now.  For better or for worse, things are going to start changing around here.   

           For me, ninth grade was the beginning of my plan to _finally_ get out of South Park.

           Step One: Sign up for as many high level classes as possible. Right now, my only options were Advanced Composition and Trigonometry, so I filled up my schedule with Biology, Geography, and Health with everyone else.  Oh, and Spanish.  I figured it would have more everyday relevance than French.

           Step Two: Sign up for as many extracurriculars as I can.  It looks really good to the admissions committees.  I’m already on the basketball team, plus Jew Scouts, and I’m on track to make National Honor Society by the end of next year.  If I also make the Academic Decathlon team, and join Key Club with Stan, that’ll be five…. Five sounds good enough.

           Step Three: Don’t get sick and don't get into trouble.  In elementary and middle school, those sorts of things didn’t matter too much, but I knew high school was a different story.  Too many sick days would put me behind and any possible trouble could hurt my chances of getting into a school outside of Park County, much less out of the state.

          Plans only take you so far, though.  Unfortunately for me, life seems to enjoy screwing with me and my friends.

           It was late October, and Clyde's parents were out of town the weekend of Halloween.  Naturally, the whole grade was invited to his Halloween party.  When we heard there would be prizes for the costume contests, the four of us wanted in—there was no way we were going to miss out on an opportunity to win something.  We were hanging around Stan's room coming up with ideas for the group costume.  Of course, it didn't take too long to agree on going as the Justice League—the annoying part was figuring out who was going as _which member_ of the Justice League.

           “I think we should just pick out our costumes, then get two more people to fill whatever costumes are left,” Kenny suggested.    

           “Oh, yeah, ‘cause _everyone_ will want to be Aquaman and Wonder Woman,” I said with a roll of my eyes.

           “Easy,” Cartman scoffed.  “We just make Kahl be Aquaman, get Stan’s bitch girlfriend to be Wonder Woman, and then pay someone else to fill in whatever spot we have left.”

           “Why do I have to be Aquaman?! Why can’t you be Aquaman?”

           “‘Cause nobody wants to be that pussy-ass Aquaman, you fuckin’ daywalker!”

          “GUYS!” We all saw Stan sitting cross-legged on his bed, red with frustration. “If nobody wants the stupid costume, let’s just get Butters to be Aquaman.”

          Cartman and I looked at each other.  Okay, yeah, it was a stupid fight to pick, but at least neither of us had to be Aquaman.  Though to be fair, I think Cartman was more excited about taking advantage of that assignment to humiliate Butters.

           “So are you going to ask Wendy to be Wonder Woman?” I asked Stan.

           “What if I want to be Wonder Woman?” Kenny asked.

           “Kenny, you’re not being Wonder Woman,” Stan said bluntly, pulling out his phone.

           He dialed up one of his contacts and waited out the ringing.  I don’t think Stan ever realized how loud he keeps his phone volume.  Despite not being on speaker, we all heard that familiar feminine “Hi Stan!” on the other line.

          “Hey Wendy! What's up?”

          “Oh, I was actually just about to call you! I was at Bebe's talking about the Halloween party, and instead of being the Powerpuff Girls with Red, she decided that we’re being Disney princesses, and she wants me to be Snow White just because I look the part!  Can you believe that?  I mean, Bebe’s my best friend, and I love her to death, but can you imagine?  Me, dressing up as some lazy whore of a princess that just lays around and waits to get rescued?  Snow White is everything wrong with the Disney princess stereotype!  She symbolizes the damsel in distress movement that has been holding back Hollywood for decades!  You would think Bebe would know me better than that by now, right?”

          I saw Stan trying so hard not to stare off into space.  Wendy is a good person, don't get me wrong, but she does have a hard time realizing when other people need to talk at times.  She’s just like Cartman—she gets wrapped up in her own words and forgets other people are right there and… wait, did I just compare my super best friend’s girlfriend to my rival?

          “Right.” Stan nervously gulped before asking, “Hey, so what do you think about Wonder Woman?”

          “She's a feminist superhero icon. Look Stan, what does this have to do with my Bebe problems?”

           Stan's eyes were frantically darting around the room.  I went up to him and whispered, “Dude, just ask her now before you throw up on your bed.”

          “Yeah don't be a fucking pussy, Stan,” Cartman said a little louder than he should have.

          “Cartman, I swear to Abraham I'll--!”

          “WendytheguysandIaregoingastheJusticeLeaguetoClyde'spartyandwewantedtoknowifyoucouldbeWonderWoman!” Stan shouted, the other hand clutching his blanket.

          “Sure.”

          “I mean, I understand if you don't want to… wait what?”

           I heard some light laughter from the other end followed by, “Yes Stan, I'll be Wonder Woman.  I'll order the costume later tonight.  And don't forget our movie date tomorrow!”

          “Don't worry Wendy, I remember.” None of us believed him; Wendy had to remind him about dates twice a day.  Hopefully, he had a better time memorizing the capitals of African countries for Geography.

*********

          It was Friday.  The party was tonight, so Stan and I decided to hang out at my house.  He had his Superman costume in his backpack, while my Flash costume was laid out upstairs in my room.  As soon as we got inside, we threw our bags by the door, and Stan took a seat on the couch while I rummaged through my video-game cabinet.

           “Wanna play a few rounds of _Call of Duty_?” I asked.

           “Sure Ky, but... can I ask you something?”

           “Yeah dude, what's up?”

           “Do you think things between Wendy and I are okay?”

           While my Xbox warmed up, I turned around to look at Stan. “I guess so? Why wouldn’t they be?”

           “We just got to third base.”

           I wasn't so sure why I had to know that but I had a feeling there was a point. “And?”

          “Clyde, Token, Jimmy, and some of the guys on the team went all the way with their girlfriends already!”

            Oh.

            I got up and sat down beside Stan.  

            “Look, just because you and Wendy aren't there yet doesn't mean your relationship has problems.  If anything, I think it's good you two are taking things the way you are.  And what guys on the team? Because if Fat Ass is one of them, I feel absolutely sorry for whoever the other person was,” I said, hoping to bring something akin to a smile to Stan's face.

            A half-grin formed as he shook his head and chuckled. “Fuck no! I was talking about the older players. And to be fair, I don't think we have to worry too much about losing our virginity before Cartman.”

          That alone made me laugh, and Stan joined in shortly afterwards.  As we grabbed our controllers and started picking perks, I couldn’t help but ask, “Dude, just wondering, how did third base even happen with Wendy? She seems like such a ‘wait until marriage’ type.”

           “Dude, I thought the same thing!” Stan said, leaning in close like he was about to tell me some groundbreaking secret.  “But my parents got in a fight, so my dad gave me their tickets to go see this dumb musical.  It was so weird, but he kept telling me, ‘no, no, it’s worth it, I promise!’ So we went, and then we got back to my place and went up to my room and…”

           My eyes were probably looking like saucers.  My brain wasn't one hundred percent finished processing when I said, “So wait. This happened because you took her to a freaking musical?” From the looks of it, even Stan was still trying to completely absorb what had transpired between him and Wendy.

           “Yeah! But don't say anything to Wendy. She'd be pissed.”

           “Stan, if she does find out, just pray you don't end up like Cartman when he made fun of breast cancer in fourth grade.”

**************

           “If we lose to Craig and his gang, then you’re gonna get it, Kahl.”

           “How would it be my fault if we lose?”

           “’Cause the Flash isn’t Jewish!”

           “What does my religion have to do with being the Flash for Halloween?!”

           “Hey fellas!” For once I was grateful for Butters’ interruption, as we expected, he didn’t seem bothered by wearing that ridiculous costume with the seahorse built in.  Wendy did punch Stan in the arm, though, and then proceeded to lecture us about taking advantage of people.  Of course, that didn't last long when Cartman decided to “boo” her.

           “What's up?” I asked Butters. Cartman and I were sitting down in the main living room on our phones since Kenny was assumedly off to hook up with one of the Disney Princess girls and Stan disappeared with Wendy upstairs.  I think it's safe to assume that their date to see _Wicked_ had something to do with their alone time.

           “Nothing much, just talking to Bebe and Nichole about dance.” I shook my head for a moment before realizing what Butters had said.  Butters isn’t a bad guy, but it's talking about things like the dance team that make him Cartman's butt monkey.

           As soon as the word ‘dance’ came out, Cartman jumped into the taunting full-force.  I didn’t want to listen to it, so I got up to get a drink from the cooler.  I saw Stan talking to Craig, who was in full-blown White Walker getup.  Once Stan and I made eye contact, he came over to speak with me.           

           “Hey man, sorry I disappeared. I was with Wendy.”

          “It's cool. Cartman didn’t even start threatening me until Craig’s White Walker pack walked up to the sign-up sheet.”

          “Sorry I left you to deal with him, dude,”

          Taking a beer from the cooler, I said, “It's okay, I just walked away as soon as Butters joined us.”

          Stan chuckled, but then his blue eyes went blank, as if he remembered something important.  Putting down his beer, Stan checked for anyone else nearby and said, “Actually, let's go out back for a second.”

           Knowing Stan, it was clear that something not too good was about to happen... Or had happened.

           “Is this something I should know about?”

           Stan opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a violent crash sound.  Suddenly the only other sounds were that of “Uptown Funk” serving as an accompaniment to:

           “You can't tell me what to do, ho!”

           “Cartman, you know very well that I'm the exact opposite of a ho! And I'm sorry but we're stuck together for this so you might as well grow a pair!”

           “Newsflash, Windy, I have a pair! So why don’t you go make me a sandwich while I work on our case?”

           Stan and I moved from the kitchen, but decided to stay behind a few people as we saw our Justice League fall apart.  Though to be fair, I'm not that surprised by the scene, especially seeing how Wendy is the anti-Cartman and Cartman is, in turn, the anti-Wendy.

           It looked like Cartman had won, but before he could start gloating, she turned to him with a cocky smile of her own and said, “Actually, I think it would benefit the Green Lantern here to be able to go and make the sandwich himself.  After all, every bit of exercise counts.” Despite being petite in size, Wendy somehow managed to make Cartman shrink back, almost surrendering to the power of her words.

           _One of these days, I'm gonna ask her how she does that..._

          I felt Stan grab my hand. Right, he wanted to go outside.  So while the fight continued inside, he and I ducked into Clyde’s side-yard.  It was quiet: the house muffled any of the noises inside. It was just the two of us.

            “So I saw Kenny for a bit before he went into a room with Red.”

            “Did he give you some of his weed?”

            “No. I really do think he’s cutting back this time.”

            Kenny mentioned that he wanted to shut down his old middle school weed trade.  Just a few months ago, there was a big fight between his dad and his older brother, and it put his little sister in the hospital.  He said he wanted to shut it down for her sake. Being an older sibling myself, I know where he’s coming from.

           “It’s good he’s thinking about his sister. Those two really need to get the hell out of that house.”

          Stan moved closer, and the two of us just looked at the night sky.  Best friends need to fill the air with conversation; they can't just live on background noise.  Being _super_ best friends however, a little background noise was nice once in a while, as long as the other was there.

           I eventually broke the silence, though. “Think we should go back inside? They might be announcing the winners.”

           Stan let out a sigh, looking at his feet. I could tell he wasn’t eager to go back inside and deal with Wendy’s attitude post-Cartman-fight. So I gave him a shove to get his attention and offered, “If you'd rather not deal with Wendy after this, you know you're always welcome to crash at my place.”

           Stan lifted his head to face me again with a small grin. “Yeah. Thanks, Kyle, you're the best.”

          Just as we were about to head inside, a glass-breaking scream disrupted the quiet night. “The hell was that?!” Stan cried.

           My eyes darted all over the place, but I didn’t see where it could have come from. “I don’t know! It sounded like the front of the house. Let’s go check it out!”

           We ran around to the front of the house, where the rest of the party was filing out to join us.  We saw Bebe in her Cinderella gown gasping for air, almost like she was drowning, pointing a shaky finger at the ground.  We even saw Wendy and Cartman come outside, as if completely forgetting their fight…though their black eyes would probably remind them later.

           Stan and I came close enough and saw what had Bebe freaked out about: Kenny's body covered in slashes and gashes, with rats scampering around him.

           “Oh my god! They killed Kenny!”

           “You bastards!”

           I then saw Wendy tap Stan on the shoulder, her mouth open as though unsure what to say for a few moments.  He took both her hands and said, “I'm so sorry you had to see that--”

          “Stan, you and Kyle should see this.”

           Stan and I shared a shrug as I followed him and Wendy to the front wall of the house where Butters appeared to be muttering something about being "grounded", and Cartman just stood there, mouth hanging open, eyes barely blinking.

           After hearing some things about “stupid Harry Potter trick,” “go home,” and “clean up,” all of the background noise faded into silence.  Someone had taped a piece of paper to a wall with five names on it: Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, Eric Cartman, Butters Stotch, and Kenny McCormick, the last of which was scratched out.  And next to that was a message, written in what we had to assume was Kenny’s blood:

 

**SM, KB, EC, BS, KM**

**u cant hide frum me**

**its paybak tym**


	2. Cartman- Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The individual does not understand or know how to do something and does not necessarily recognize the deficit." 
> 
> The first in a four part series that tells the tales of the misadventures of Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman, Buttes, and Wendy as they are confronted with high school and other shenanigans considered typical in their mountain town. In their first year they are just trying to get used to the new system of their lives while something from the past is out to bite them behind the scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so before you begin, you should know that concerning the chronology of this fic, every six chapters will take place during a season of the year told from the first person perspective of these six main characters each so some events might be repeated from a different perspective and what not and not necessarily happening in order, but nonetheless I hope it doesn't get too confusing for anyone. 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux! 
> 
> I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**II. Cartman- Fall**

_**In which Cartman realizes his constant over- and under-estimation of others.** _

 

            I have a lot of enemies.

           No matter how amazing and brilliant my plans are, there’s always someone trying to get in the way of my success. Let’s take, for example, that motherfuckin’ kike Kyle. Like any Jew, he’s untrustworthy, greedy, and out to keep me from getting any money.  People like him want all the money in the world to themselves. The only reason we got stuck hanging out together so much is because our moms have to be such good friends. As much as I hate him, though, it’s not always so bad. It’s worth having him around if I get to make his life a living hell. That Jew’s getting what's coming to him.

           Then there's that goddamn pussy Stan, who has to be _such_ a fucking sensitive human being.  And yes, there are _so_ many problems with that. I _hate_ it when Kyle gets the upper hand because his stupid butt-pirate comes in to save him all the time. And then they always flip things on me so that I’M the one who gets in trouble when THEY’RE the ones conspiring against me!

           Oh, yeah, and then there’s Kenny, but he’s cool. Apart from the fact that he’s dead, but whatever, he does that all of the time. Such a piss-off that everyone thinks I had something to do with it; bet Kyle and Stan are the ones behind spreading that, fuckin’ queers. I would own this damn town if it weren’t for those two always gettin’ in my way.  Or so I thought.

           Turns out I overestimated the wrong people, and somehow underestimated the true threat to my plans. That's right, the threat is singular and takes the human form of none other than Wendy Testaburger.

           I hate that fucking bitch.

           She goes around like she owns the school, preaching nothing but hippie bullshit and shoving it down our throats. The day she was elected ninth grade representative to the SGA, I knew that it would be up to me to fight her hippie agenda for the future. There's an old saying that goes, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” and that was exactly what I planned to do. Unfortunately, freshmen don't get as much liberty with choosing their classes, so aside from three periods, I don't see her much during the day. But then came the announcement, my golden ticket to destroying that hippie prude once and for all: the Debate Team.

           It was perfect. I'd go against Wendy and take her down with my obviously superior debating skills. Her motivation would tank! She’d be completely powerless! Then I’d never have to listen to her get up on her stupid soapbox and preach about love and civil liberties and having respect for women or any of her preachy hippie bullshit ever again.

           The first day of Debate came, and the teacher split us up into groups. She said we would be doing Public Forum debate (which is basically _Crossfire_ with less TV cameras), and that we’d be working in the same teams for the entire year. “Wendy Testaburger, you’ll be working with Eric Cartman.” _‘Cause I’ve got a golden ticket, I’ve got a golden twinkle in my eye~_

          

           Our topic this term was capital punishment. Obviously, we picked sides right away: I picked for, because I believe in making crazy hippies pay for their crimes, and Wendy picked against because she’s a pussy who thinks we should make our prisoners hold hands and sing fucking “Kumbaya.” After our little... _incident_ at Clyde’s place, we met up after school the next day in the library to start researching. Surprisingly, it was actually going pretty okay.

           Until _somebody_ had to open her damn mouth.

           “Why are you doing debate?” Looking up from my computer screen, I saw Wendy had her laptop half closed, staring at me with her sharp grey-blue eyes, like I was some frog she was trying to dissect. Only not, because hippies like her are probably more likely to free all the frogs in the biology labs before they get dissected ‘cause animal rights or whatever.

           I chose to try to keep my cool, so I returned my attention to my research, acting like I didn't hear her.  But like any ho, she doesn't know when to shut up. “Cartman, I'm not stupid. I know you well enough that there is definitely an underlying scheme you have going on here, so you might as well cut the crap!”

           That bitch may be a head shorter than me, but somehow she still manages to _really_ set me off. So I looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Fine! So what if I have a grand plan? That's for you to keep your hippie nose out of!”

           “Because whatever it is, it's my job to make sure you don't fuck things over for everyone like always! For all I know, you could be sending an assassin after Kyle!”

            I burst out laughing, almost rocking back in my chair. “Wow, you are one dense bitch!” Then I paused for a second. “I mean, I’ve thought ‘bout it before, don’t get me wrong, but if I kill the lil’ Jew, then I don’t get ta humiliate him anymore, and where’s the fun in that?” I could see her starting to steam, so I interrupted whatever she was going to say next with a big, cheeky smile. “But I’m flattered that you care ‘bout me so much that you’re askin’ ‘bout what my next big plan is. Such a cute, stupid ho, always askin’ dumb questions.”

           “Don't you dare patronize me, fat ass!” she snapped, slamming her fist into the table and making the whole thing shake. “For your information, I'm not going to let you do this just so you can screw over me and my entire fucking future!”

           “That's a lot of big talk comin’ from a lil’ shawty like you,” I sneered. “‘Sides, why do I need to screw you? I’m just here to beat you fair ‘n square ‘n be on mah merry way.”

           “Oh, that's just fucking _rich,_ coming from a psychopath like you!”

          “’Ey! I'm not a goddamn psychopath!”

          “Oh really? How about when you vandalized the synagogue with your own shit on Kyle’s Bar Mitzvah weekend?”

          “Those kikes had it coming!”

          “What about your constant need to sexually humiliate Kyle and Butters? Or when you turned half the town into neo-Nazis by having them blindly chant about killing the Jews? Or when you terrorized the country by teaming up with Cthulhu? Or when you locked Butters in a bomb shelter for a week? Or you sold everyone burgers that were shoved up your ass? Oh and let's not forget when you faked Tourette's Syndrome, when you made that movie about me killing Smurfs, or that time you pretended to be a Ginger and had us all kidnapped!”

           “To be fair, I wasn’t _pretending_ to be a Ginger, I really believed it at the time! Besides, not like you’re some kind of fuckin’ saint! What about the time you pretended to be transgendered to use my private bathroom?  Or went on that massive rampage against the cheerleaders as a Jelly Monster? Or that time you got in trouble for beating me up in front of the whole school?”

           “You turned your dad into chili meat and fed it to Scott Tenorman!”

           “I--!!” ...I didn’t have a comeback. All I could do was listen to the blood pumping in my ears and try not to punch that whore straight in the mouth. “Face it, Cartman, you’re a psychotic masochist that’s a menace to society! All because you can’t stand other people being better than you, because you’re going to grow up and be a nobody who lives with his mom for the rest of your life!”

           “Okay. Let’s make a bet on it.”

           “What?”

           “If you think you’re ‘so much better than me,’ put your socialist slut-money where your mouth is. Let’s see who ends up being more successful by the time we graduate high school. The winner gets to rub it in the other person's face for eternity, and after college their first job has to be being the winner’s bitch for the rest of their life.”

           “Define ‘successful’.”

           “Whoever gets into the higher-ranked college… outside of Colorado!”

            She thought about it for a moment then shot me a lip-glossed smirk. I did it again—I underestimated Wendy Testaburger. She gave me her hand, which I _had_ to accept. No way I could back out like a bitch now. All I could do was return the cocky smirk.

 

           “Deal.”

 

 

 


	3. Stan- Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The individual does not understand or know how to do something and does not necessarily recognize the deficit." 
> 
> The first in a four part series that tells the tales of the misadventures of Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman, Buttes, and Wendy as they are confronted with high school and other shenanigans considered typical in their mountain town. In their first year they are just trying to get used to the new system of their lives while something from the past is out to bite them behind the scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux! 
> 
> I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**III. Stan- Fall**

**_In which Stan deals with his unwanted self-discovery._ **

          

           There’s something about playing football that makes people look at you differently.  People who don’t know me very well always imagine that I’m your typical red-blooded, all-American high schooler.  Handsome quarterback, volunteers at the animal shelter, dating a hot girl who actually has a brain and wants to amount to something...sounds like the kid who has it all together, right?

           Yeah, anyone who thinks that can go fuck themselves.

           It sucks, but I can’t do anything about it now.  Every time I think about saying something, I think about my parents.  I think about the looks on their faces when I do something right, and how much they glow when they hug me and say how proud they are of their “little man.”  And then I think about how much it would crush them if I messed that up.  They’ve been teetering on the edge of divorce for so long, I know that throwing my problems into the mix would only make everything worse. And if I was the reason behind our entire family falling apart…I honestly don’t know how I’d be able to deal with it.  

           So I deal with it.  I put my head down and try to ignore it.  At least I’ve got my friends around; at least _they_ don’t expect me to be such a golden boy…Okay, slight correction: at least I have _Kyle._ If I didn’t have him around to pull my head out of my ass every once in a while, I’d be a mess.

           I could probably fill in a book with all the ways Kyle’s been there for me throughout the years.  Like just a few weeks ago, he got me out of having to go to that _stupid_ homecoming dance. (Seriously, watching all the girls act like total sluts while some shitty underpaid DJ plays stupid dance music that hasn’t been popular in ten years? Not how I wanted to spend my birthday.)  As soon as the game ended, I ran out to meet everyone, but… no one was there.  Even Cartman bolted from the locker rooms without waiting up.  I was really disappointed, but then I got home and found out that Kyle had set up this huge surprise party for me. (He even managed to keep Cartman from blowing the secret during football practice.)  I had this _huge_ swarm of butterflies in my stomach all night.  I couldn’t believe that Kyle went through all of that work, just for me. He already puts himself under an insane amount of stress; I just hope it doesn’t eventually put him in the hospital.

          If Captain Hindsight were here, he’d probably say that this is when the problem started.  I guess he would be right, but at the time, I didn’t even realize it was a problem at all.

           “What’s the problem?” you might ask. Well, before I get to that, let me start with this:  I got back together with Wendy the summer before eighth grade at Kyle’s bar mitzvah party, and I couldn’t be happier.  I’ve been in love with her since I was eight years old, and anyone who can’t see why is an idiot. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, she’s passionate, she’s involved… She’s going to go so far in life. Heck, she might even escape this mountain town sand trap one day.

           But here’s the thing: as much as I love her, we haven’t had sex yet.  All of the guys in my class have somehow already had sex… Okay, maybe not _all_ the guys, but definitely the ones who have girlfriends.  I think Kyle would’ve told me if he lost his virginity already, and I won’t be surprised if Cartman dies a virgin. (Don’t even get me started on Kenny; I think he lost his when we were twelve or something.) Point is, until recently, our relationship was going at a snail’s pace, which for me was okay.  I mean, I just recently got to the point where I can kiss her without wanting to throw up. (I was scared for a while that it meant my feelings for her were changing, but Kenny tried to sell me on this idea that the throwing up was just my pre-pubescent outlet for sexual frustration and I’d throw up less if I just jacked off more… Don’t tell Kenny that he was right; I’ll never hear the end of it.)

           One day, my parents got into another one of their arguments.  Something about Dad starting a one-man didgeridoo band or something, I don’t know.  Anyway, it blew up to the point where Mom decided to go out with Kyle’s, Butters’ and Kenny’s moms instead of going with Dad to see _Wicked_ for, like, the ninety-second time.  So Dad gave his tickets to me, since I was already going on a date with Wendy that night, anyway.  We were supposed to go see _Blackfish_ , which I was really looking forward to.  Not only do Wendy and I have our love of animal rights in common, but… well, movies are easy dates.  But Dad kept insisting (which was kind of weird), so I took the tickets, and we went.

           The show itself was pretty good, but I swear to God I heard one of the singers say something about “that blowjob place” or something like that.  Either way, it had something to do with blowjobs.  But no one else seemed to notice, especially not Wendy, so I figured I was just mishearing or starting to go crazy or something.  Then on the way home, Wendy said she wanted to hang out at my place for a little bit before going home.My dad barely finished parking the car in the garage when Wendy eagerly unbuckled our seat-belts, took my hand, ran us up to my room, locked the door, shut the blinds, and pushed me down on the bed with both her hands on the inside of my thighs.

           “I think you deserve a treat for being a wonderful boyfriend.”

           I clutched the blanket tightly as she undid my pants, never breaking eye contact with me until she took me into her mouth.  She dug her nails into my hips, running her tongue up and down, trying to get a rise out of me.  I winced a little bit from all of the sensations--for some reason, I couldn’t get into it.

           She paused a few times, like she couldn’t figure out the problem, either, and had to keep readjusting to try and fix it. _Come on, Stan, just relax and enjoy it._ That’s how this was supposed to work, right?

           So I shut my eyes and put my hand on her head, just like you always see the guys doing in porn videos.  I tried picturing her naked, imagining us having sex, anything I could come up with to get off.  It wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I eventually just knotted my fingers in her hair like forcing it out was my best shot.

           And for a second, that worked.

           This loud moan forced its way out of my throat as I finally felt my dick tighten up.  I lost myself playing with her hair, getting caught in all of the frizzy tangles and feeling the bouncing curls rubbing up against my skin. I wasn’t wincing anymore, I was actually enjoying it.

           Almost as quick as it started, I hit my climax, and it was over.  I gripped those wild, untamed curls tight as I shot off, to the point I actually had to stretch my knuckles when I finally let her go.

           It took me a minute before I could collect myself and look at her.  She was a little busy wiping her mouth, but it wasn’t her face that had me so thrown off, but her _hair._ I totally forgot: _Wendy’s hair is fucking pin-straight._ That bird’s nest of curls I was digging into wasn’t even there.  It was just me imagining things and leaving Wendy with a huge frazzled mess of silky black hair on one side of her head.

           I don’t think she realized what just happened.  She just smiled, and the only thing she said about it was “Maybe next time, you can try not to pull my hair so hard.”  

          After Wendy left, my head was reeling over how I couldn’t get hard until I imagined she was someone else.  Specifically the only person I know with insanely frizzy hair. I told myself it was just a slip-up—I was trying too hard, and my brain fucked with me because of it.  

           But then Clyde’s party came around.

           She and I snuck upstairs to an empty guest room, blocking the door with a chair to make sure we wouldn’t be interrupted, and then got down on the bed and made out for a little bit.  No big deal, we’ve done it at parties plenty of times. (Plenty of the other guys would be doing much worse.)  But there was that feeling again, that sort of… I can’t even really describe it. Emptiness? Boredom? I don’t know what it was, but it was there again.  I just couldn’t get into the moment. I mean, me and Wendy had the room to ourselves, and she was looking _fantastic_ in that Wonder Woman costume, with the short skirt and the tight corset and…

           Point is, something was up. But I decided to prove that it was just a weird slip-up and that nothing was wrong.

           I moved my hands lower and lower, until she gave me the go-ahead to slip them up under her skirt.  We took a break from our make-out session, just long enough for her to kick off the Wonder boots and roll down her pantyhose.  Sex was out of the question--there was just no easy way for me to get out of the Superman tights—but Wendy made it pretty clear that she wanted me to come up with _something._

           We went back to making out.  I tried to focus on that while my fingers kind of tapped uselessly on her pelvis and hoped she didn’t realize I was nervous and trying to stall.   _Get it together, Stan! You know how many guys would kill to get this far with a chick, ESPECIALLY Wendy?_

           I dragged a few fingers down and slid them into her.  It made a wet kind of slopping sound, and I tried not to cringe from the warm, wet fleshy sensation.  But she gave a little approving groan, so I kept at it, poking around and working my way in and out, trying to listen for when she reacted and then just doing that over and over again.  She eventually snaked her own hand down to join mine, but her fingers were somewhere else entirely. (Seriously, why are girls so complicated?)

           I felt nauseous the entire time. I just tried to pour all of my attention into kissing her as much as I could--maybe if I kept her occupied, she wouldn’t notice how badly I was fighting not to puke all over her.

          Luckily for me, Wendy’s phone buzzed. Between all of the emails and tweets she sends and all of the Facebook groups she’s in and the Tumblrs she follows and her huge texting circle, I know she can’t ignore her phone.  She gave an annoyed groan before nudging me aside, meaning I could pull my fingers back while she reached over and checked her device.

           “Oh, crap.”

           “What is it?”

           “Debate coach just posted public forum teams. Guess who _I_ get to work with for the rest of the year?” Between the pissed-off pout and the sarcasm, I didn’t think I had to answer her.  There’s only one fat-ass in the entire school that can get under her skin like that.

           “You need me to talk to him for you?”

           “No, I can handle it, but thanks.” (I found out later that her big scrap with Cartman was her idea of ‘handling it.’)

           That email clearly spoiled her mood, so she pulled up her pantyhose and grabbed her boots, and we left the room.  Bebe grabbed her when we passed the stairs, giving me a chance to sneak into the bathroom and douse my hands with soap. (I still had the smell on me for the rest of the night, though. Yuck.)

           After listening to the upperclassmen in the locker rooms so many times, I thought it was supposed to be enjoyable.  All they ever talk about is how hot and sexy it is and how much they brag about being able to make their girls wet and whatever else.

           I splashed cold water in my face before returning to the party.

           I needed a drink.

           I also needed Kyle.

           When we finally got away from the noise, I gave up on trying to tell him what happened.  I didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t need him trying to make me feel better.  Just Kyle being around makes me feel better.  And for that moment, it was just us and the stars.

          That weekend, I stayed over at Kyle’s.  We spent our Saturday talking about the party and how it got cut short by “the list” and the threat written on the wall.  Despite his name being crossed off, no one knows where Kenny went.  Hopefully he just went home to check on his sister and wasn’t really in any danger.  

           “Dude, I still think it was just someone’s idea of a dumb Halloween prank.” I said.

           “How can you be so sure?”

           “Well for one thing, if this person wanted to be taken seriously, they’d learn how to fuckin’ spell.”

           Kyle sat up, giving me his ‘not now, I’m being serious’ face.  “Still, Stan! Pranks are stupid things, like last April Fool’s when Cartman stole your phone and changed all your ringtones and contacts to get you in trouble with Wendy.”

           “Don’t remind me.” On top of the fact I was accidentally flirt-texting with Bebe, Cartman had given my special ringtone for Wendy to Kyle.  It took me weeks before I managed to fix everybody’s numbers.

           “Point is, THAT’S a stupid prank.  Vandalizing someone’s house to swear revenge? Not a prank.”

           “Look, let’s at least wait it out until Monday.  If we see Kenny at school in one piece, then there’s nothing to worry about.  If he doesn’t turn up, THEN we can start worrying about it.”

           I could tell Kyle wasn’t happy with the idea, but he did drop the subject.  To be honest, I was a little uneasy, too.  Having your name on a revenge threat painted in fake blood on someone’s house is never a good place to be.  But it was the only thing we could do for now.

           I have to admit, though:  I slept a little easier knowing I was sleeping next to Kyle.

 

* * *

 

           And that’s how I found myself spending our Thursday off from school, hanging out with Kenny and trying to get his advice on my “relationship problem.”

           “So the only way you got off on Wendy was by pretending she was Kyle?!”

           Note the word _trying._ For everything Kenny knew about sex, relationships weren’t always his strong suit.  “Well, sure, it sounds fucked up when you put it like _that._ ”

           “That’s because it is!” I watched a rat climb up and into Kenny’s open nightstand; he was still looking at me like _I_ was the weird one. “Are you really sure you’re ‘in love’ with Wendy?”

           “Of course I am! I’ve been in love with her since we were eight! Why are you even asking?”

           “Did you enjoy fingering Wendy?”

           “I… think so?”

           Kenny gave me a flat look with a cocked brow. “Stan.”

           “What?”

           “Either you did or you didn’t. Don’t give me this ‘I think so’ shit.”

           “Okay, fine, sure, I did.” It didn’t even matter if I did or not. I was too busy regretting starting this conversation.

           “Did you enjoy it when she went down on you?”

           “It made sitting through that dumb musical worth it.”

           “Don’t change the subject with me, Stan—wait, what does taking her to a musical have to do with anything?”

   Ugh, me and my big mouth.  So I told Kenny the same story that I told Kyle.  I could see his eyes lighting up the entire time I was talking, like he was a kid seeing a shiny new toy for the first time.  I had just given one of the perviest kids in South Park the secret to getting girls to give you blowjobs.  God damn it.

          Before I knew it, Kenny was pushing me down the stairs to his front door. “Kenny, what the hell?”

          “Sorry, Stan, this has been nice, but I’ve gotta prepare for an audition!”

           I blocked the closing door with my foot as soon as he said ‘audition.’

           “The fuck are you talking about?”

           I swear, with the big grin on his face, you’d swear Kenny invented a fucking time machine. “Dude, think about it! If a guy can get a blowjob just sitting on his ass and _watching_ a musical, think about how much action a guy could get if he’s IN the musical!”

           Houston, shit has definitely hit the fan.

           “You’re not telling me that…”

           “Totally, man! I’m gonna try out for the school musical!”

           Before I could say another word, the door slammed in my face.

           On the walk home, I decided two things:

           One, maybe my problem with Wendy is just puberty still fucking with my head, and I’ll just get over it.

           Two, I have to text Kyle and Cartman. If Kenny’s going to embarrass himself at the musical auditions, we need to have front-row seats.


	4. Kenny- Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The individual does not understand or know how to do something and does not necessarily recognize the deficit." The first in a four part series that tells the tales of the misadventures of Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Cartman, Buttes, and Wendy as they go through high school while something from the past is out to bite them from behind the scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux!  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**IV.  Kenny- Fall**

 

_**In which Kenny finds a way to have a future and still get some.** _

 

           

           Carpe diem is a fucking stupid phrase.

           Others might say it’s a great phrase to live by, but the idea of living it up before you die kind of loses its magic when you _can’t fucking die_. ...Okay, correction: I die a lot. But it’s never permanent; I always just get back up the next day. The only people who remember anything are my family.  Everyone else just forgets and says, “Hey Kenny, where the hell have you been?” I used to try and convince them - “I was fucking _dead_ , you assholes, don’t you remember?!” - but I gave up on that a while ago.  There’s just no point.  I couldn’t even convince Stan and Kyle, how was anyone else going to believe me?

           I’m kind of like a video game character that’s got the cheat code for unlimited lives. It really sucks the fun out of the game when you can just die and respawn forever.

           I’ve done a _lot_ of dumb stuff because of it. Who cares what direction my life’s going? I definitely didn’t, not for a while.  In fourth grade, I whored myself out to do anything.  Hell, I washed my hair with fuckin’ battery acid for a few bucks once. (Then again, being in the poorest family in town means every penny counts.) I’ve swiped and sold my dad’s grass, literally whored myself out (not that I always _mind_ being the school man-slut)--whatever you can think of.  Who cares, right?

           Well, that’s me. My little sister Karen is a totally different story.

           That little girl deserves so much more than the shitty lot in life she got.  Despite having one brother as a drunken mess and the other constantly dying, she still tries her hardest to look on the bright side.  Hell, whenever I’m dead for longer periods of time she actually brings flowers to that god-forsaken grave. I wonder if having a brother die all the time gave her a stronger appreciation for living things.  Even whenever she’d find a  run-over squirrel in front of our house, she’d ask me to help her give it a proper burial service, and I even helped her take a baby bird with a broken wing to the vet because she didn’t want to leave it to die.  I think I officially decided she was my favorite sibling when she saw that I couldn’t think of who to be when me and the guys were playing _Game of Thrones_ ,and after seeing the Daenerys Targaryen poster on my wall, said I should be the Princess ‘cause none of the other guys would probably think of that.  She even let me use some of her old dress-up clothes to help put together my Princess Kenny costume.  

           Point is I’ve always looked out for her. I might not be her “Guardian Angel” anymore--she grew out of needing Mysterion around, so I hung up the whole ‘masked avenger’ gig--but I’m still always there when my baby sister needs me. Even with my fooling around, I thought I could still be the good big brother to Karen that she needed.

           But then it happened.

           We’d just finished our exams, so I went with Stan and Kyle to celebrate with a few joints at Stark's Pond. (Cartman, being the fat asshole he is, turned us down because he ‘wasn’t gonna turn into some hippie shit’ or something like that.) I’d never seen Kyle try so hard to get stoned to the point of no return.  I think his hard-ass mom was probably part of it, though.  We lost track of time when we’d all come down from our high and decided to go to Kyle's house for food.  When we got there, Ike was watching the local news, which I would've ignored all together had I not heard:

          “On tonight’s _White Trash in Trouble_! A ten year-old girl ends up in the hospital because her unemployed father hit her with a glass bottle of none other than Pabst Blue Ribbon!” I didn’t think much of it until the next shot showed my dad pushed into a police vehicle, saying to the camera, “I’m white trash and I’m in trouble.”       

           That only meant one thing.

           I tuned out everything else going on around me--from the concerned cries of my friends to Kyle's parents asking what was going on--because all I could do was run.  I didn't give a fuck about the people I may have pushed out of the way or the TV screens repeating everything I already heard.  I ran and ran and didn’t stop running until I made it to Hell’s Pass.

          When I finally got there, I found Karen taking a nap.  She had a line of stitches on her face, and her left arm was wrapped up in a cast.  She’d be sporting that black eye and those bruises for days, and that scar would be there for even longer. My fists clenched up and I grit my teeth; Karen got beat up by a _lot_ more than just a fucking beer bottle.

           Just as I walked in the door, she woke up.  Even with the cast and the stitches, she still cracked a big smile when she saw me. “Kenny, you’re here!”

           “Yeah, I’m here.” I went over and gave her a big hug. I almost cried a little bit on her shoulder, but like hell I’d let her see that.  That was how Karen was.  Even after getting beat up like that, she could still greet you with the biggest smile in the room.

           It was a scary next few days.  Karen and I were actually packed and ready for CPS to come haul us off again, but they confirmed Mom’s statement about being at work when the whole thing happened.  Dad had to do time for the next six months, so she took on double-duty dishwashing and waitressing at Olive Garden to show she could hold down the house and not risk losing us.

           That finally did it for me.  Going down the same path as my old man and Kevin wasn’t an option anymore.  With Kevin dicking around the house all day, I needed to start growing up a little for Karen.  I spent the whole summer spending time with her, letting her have my food and sacrificing time I would’ve spent playing _Call of Duty_ at Kyle’s to sitting through hearing her and her little friends sing their lungs out while watching _Frozen_ God-knows how many times.

           Unfortunately, part of the growing up process was giving up weed--both selling AND smoking it. So I needed a new vice to pick up.

           Fucking was as good as anything else, but our school’s full of fucking prudes. They’re all still stuck on those dumb-ass ideas the adults are trying to shove down our throats: “wait until college,” “wait for the right time,” “wait for the right guy”... and my fucking favorite, “wait until marriage.” I’d say the hypocrisy makes me want to shoot myself, but that wouldn't exactly do anything.            

          Don't get me wrong, there are a few girls willing to put out a little, but none are interested in going beyond second base.  Some say it’s better than nothing, but tell that to my dick.

           It also didn't exactly help me when I got stabbed to death after going outside for fresh air at that Halloween party at Clyde’s.  All ‘cause I couldn’t get Red to budge off of goddamn second base.  I didn’t get to see the guy who did it, but hey, I was only in Hell overnight.

           I had just about given up on the idea of _ever_ getting laid around here, but then Stan showed me the miracle of musicals.  Really? Something as dumb as a musical could get someone as buttoned-up as _Wendy_ to put out? And no one ever told me?! Well, that made my next step pretty clear: if a guy can get lucky just _taking_ a girl to a musical, then the guys who are actually _in_ the musicals must be the luckiest sons of bitches on Earth!    

           ...Okay, my plan isn’t completely sex-driven.  Apparently, colleges really want you to do other shit besides just get good grades.  The theatre department was going to become that shit.

          I was going to find a way to have a future and still get action.  This was going to be fucking awesome!

           The night before auditions, I tucked Karen in and then spent all night going over my audition piece.  My _Singing like Raul Esparza for Dummies_ tapes became my best friends for a few weeks while I worked on my song.

           The day of, I dropped Karen off at Craig’s place to hang out with Ruby, then booked it back to the school with five minutes to spare.  And the second I dropped down into one of the auditorium seats, I heard, “Kenny? The fuck are you doing here?”

           I glanced up at the lovely set of D-cups staring me down.  Man, was Clyde one lucky bastard. “Auditioning for the musical. What’s it look like?”

           Bebe gave me a scowl, pointing at her face. “My eyes are up here, McCormick.”

           “Yeah, I know.” Doesn’t mean I stopped looking.

           “Second, what are you _really_ doing here? Don’t tell me Mr. ‘I don’t give a fuck about anyone but myself’ is _actually_ going out for the musical.”

           “I'm actually very generous with my fucks, Bebe. Sure you’re not talkin’ about your boyfriend?”

           “Clyde’s giving plenty of fucks! He’s doing the musical with me, just because that’s how thoughtful he is!”

           “I'm sure he is.”  I said, trying not to roll my eyes at the thought of someone who checks himself out in the mirror more than Derek Zoolander actually being ‘thoughtful.’

           “Do you even know what this year’s show is going to be?”

           “Duh, _Into the Woods._ Give me a little credit, Bebe, come on.”

           She huffed and puffed for a second, trying to come up with a comeback but was saved when Clyde called for her across the auditorium.  She walked off without even saying bye or good luck or anything… but I can’t exactly complain about getting to watch that sweet ass of hers strut away.

           Of all people, _Mr. Fucking Garrison_ was the last person in the door when auditions started. “Alright, alright, before anyone says anything, we lost a lot of teachers with the new budget cuts, so now I’m stuck directing this show for you lil’ shitheads. When I call yer name, come down here, sing whatever dumb song you wrote up, and go sit back down. After the song auditions, we’ll read for parts. Cast list’ll be up tomorrow during lunch, so don’t suck ass today unless you want to spend the whole period tomorrow crying in the bathrooms.”

           I’m not even surprised anymore. Seriously, Garrison gets stuck being in charge of everything around here.

           I spaced out for a long time while all of the upperclassmen got to sing their songs. None of them were super-spectacular, but none of them absolutely bombed, either.  I’d sure hate to be the first one that did.

           “Kenny McCormick?”

           _Speaking of which._

“Present,” I called out, making my way on-stage.  While getting on my mark, I saw Stan, Kyle, and Cartman in the back row.  Stan and Kyle’s smiles were so big and fake they’d make Barney the fuckin’ Dinosaur’s look genuine. Cartman wasn’t even trying to hide it; he was already trying to sell people earplugs. They were all just here to watch me fuck it up.  Some fuckin’ friends I have.

           “Alright, Kenny, what are you going to sing?”

           “Oh, right.” I handed my sheet music off to the asshole stuck at the piano all day.             “Uh, I’m singing ‘Being Alive’ from _Company._ ”

           While the pianist got settled and started playing the intro, I tried to pick a spot in the audience to focus, but between Bebe glaring daggers and the upperclassmen looking like stone-faced jurors and Garrison ready to kick me off at a moment’s notice and Stan, Kyle, and Cartman grabbing their phones and trying not to die laughing, I had to settle on the back wall. I made fists with my hands, tried my best to imitate that misty-eyed puppy look Stan gets on his face whenever Wendy dumps him, and waited for my cue.

          “ _Somebody, hold me too close... Somebody, hurt me too deep... Somebody, sit in my chair and ruin my sleep and make me aware of being alive... Make me alive... Make me alive..._ ”

           Augh, screw the back wall. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to make it dramatic as I turned away and pointed my attention at...I don’t know, the floor? Just something that wasn’t so obviously me not looking at the audience. “ _Somebody, need me too much… Somebody, know me too well… Somebody, pull me up short, and put me through Hell, and give me support for being alive… Just make me alive!_ ”

           I threw a hand into the air and looked up again for my first big belt. “ _Make me confused! Mock me with praise! Let me be used! Vary my days!_ ”

           I then released the fists, dropped my arms and slowly looked down at the ground again.  Not the floor of the stage, more like the feet of those know-it-all seniors in the first row. “ _But alone is alone… Not alive..._ ”

           Have I been booed off-stage yet? No? That was all of the encouragement I needed to go for broke.  I dramatically picked my arms back up and looked up, out into the audience like I was trying to pull them into the number with me. “ _Somebody, crowd me with love! Somebody, force me to care! Somebody, make me come through! I’ll always be there, as frightened as you, to help us survive being alive! Being alive! Being alive!_ ”

           Each of those stingers went somewhere different in the audience. It was like slinging a bunch of ‘fuck yous’ all around the auditorium - one for Mr. Garrison, one for those knucklehead friends of mine in the back row… the third one went straight for Bebe. I even looked at her eyes and not that sweet rack of hers.  Afterwards, I stepped back, threw my arms out wide, and took a big breath right before the big, belting finish.

          "BE-ING A-LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!"

          When my audition was over, everyone had their mouths wide open like they just watched a supernova explode on-stage.  Stan and Kyle looked particularly frozen; I don’t think I’ve seen them so surprised and confused since the time me and Cartman showed them the ‘Shrek is love, Shrek is life’ video. Garrison couldn’t even say anything; he just scribbled on his little paper, looking dumbfounded, and said, “Good job, Kenny. Bebe, you’re up next.”

           Bebe tried to keep her cool as she and I swapped places on-stage. “Not bad, McCormick.”

           “Thanks, Stevens. Good luck up there.”

           “You mean break a leg?”

           “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

 

* * *

 

           “Kinny, why the fuck didn't you say anythin’ about being able to fuckin’ sing?” Cartman demanded at lunch.

           I used the opportunity to swipe a few of his fries before pointing out, “Since forever, Cartman.  If you stopped being so fat and ignorant, maybe you’d notice.”

           “AY!” Not sure what was funnier, Cartman trying to slap me away from his fries or that pansy ‘I’m not fat, I’m big-boned’ whiny face of his.

           “Still, Kenny, you did great out there,” Kyle said. “It’s nice to see you trying to pick up a productive extracurricular.”

           I couldn’t help but snicker. “Yeah. _Productive._ ” (I swear I saw Stan grumble and pinch his nose out of the corner of my eye.)

           Kyle opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, we heard the hyper shriek that could only belong to one Bebe Stevens run over to the girls’ table. “O-M-G! Wendy! Guess what?!”

           Wendy shook away her startled, wide-eyed expression, replacing it with a fascinated smile. “What is it Bebe?”

          “They’re putting up the cast list right now! AHHH!!!”

           After Wendy took a few minutes to calm her down and remind her to breathe, Bebe grabbed her hands, and both of them ran out to check the cast list. Before any of us could say anything about it, Bebe’s excited screaming was quickly swapped out for Butters’. “Fellas! Fellas! Did ya see the cast list yet? Kenny got the part!” When he reached our table, he leaned over and gave me a big, creepy hug. “Aw, good job, Kenny, you were awesome!”

           “Wait, what part did I get?” I asked.

           “Oh, geez, you didn’t see it yet?!” Butters immediately pulled a Bebe and yanked me out into the hall, too.  “Come on, come on, you gotta see it!”

           We headed out to the Student Life bulletin board, where a small sea of upperclassmen were crowding around, all trying to catch a glimpse at the list. There was even a group of senior girls shooting death glares at Bebe as she and Wendy skipped their way out of the herd. “I'm fucking Cinderella, Wendy!” she squealed. “I'm Cinder-fucking-ella!”

           “I know!” Wendy replied.

           When the crowd died down, Butters dragged me up to the list.  There were only four freshmen on the entire list.  One of them was Bebe as Cinderella, like she said…

           And one of them was me as the Wolf and Cinderella’s Prince.

         

          Phase one of getting outta here _while_ getting lucky—complete!

 


	5. Butters- Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special thanks to my betas TEP Redux and Lady Mayflower!  
> I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

 

**V.  Butters- Fall**

_**In which Butters has a secret.** _

 

            Whenever I’m feeling blue, I can only sit in my room and deal with it alone.

            At least that’s what my dad says boys do. But honestly, if that’s how boys are supposed to handle being sad, then I have a whole other reason to envy girls. When girls are feeling sad, they can always pull out some makeup or buy new shoes or wear some cute outfit. They’re allowed to feel pretty when they’re feeling down. Boys just have to “man up” and deal with it.

            That’s why I wish I was a girl, ‘cause then I’d be allowed to feel pretty when I’m sad, and no one would judge me.  More importantly, my parents wouldn’t ground me.

            When I was ten, I stopped using bathrooms at school because gender has always been confusing to me. It seems like whatever your no-nos are, there are rules you have to follow with them, and I didn’t like that at all.

            In a way, I always knew I never completely fit in with the rest of the boys. I didn’t really like playing in competitive sports, and any time the fellas did things like play _World of Warcraft_ or something, they’d tell me to leave. But then there was that time they made me pretend to be a girl so I could steal their fortune-telling device. I actually felt a little like I belong. I mean, at first they were mean, but unlike the guys, they actually felt bad. I had so much fun spending time with them while they made me over, I almost didn’t want to leave.

            Since then, I’ve only been able to feel like myself when Nichole begged me to be in the dance group.  When my folks said I could do it, I wanted to jump for joy. I wanna believe that they’re just happy that I’m doin’ something that makes me happy… but then again, I know I’m never allowed to be _too_ happy.

            I don’t care, though. I belong in dance group. Bebe and Nichole were nice enough to help me find shoes that wouldn’t fly off so easily and let me not be too far front. (There’s no way I’m lettin’ myself be responsible for hurting people again.) Dance is the closest thing I’ve got to being able to escape from everything at home. I mean… I love my folks, or at least I want to. They aren’t always fair but I think that’s just how they show they care. (But then they do stuff like leave me alone with Uncle Bud and make me wonder if they care about me at all…)

            Then I think about my pink tutu. I’ve had the thing since I was ten. Anytime my dad was still at work and my mom was downstairs doin’ taxes or watchin’ TV, I’d dance around my room in that tutu and listen to Lorde or Taylor Swift. Then one day in seventh grade, my dad stormed into my room, found the tutu under my bed, and ripped it apart and threw it in the trash. He said it was time for me to start acting like a “real boy.” Ever since then, I’ve kept my biggest secret yet from them for almost three years.  

            I guess in a way I’m in the closet about my gender rather than my sexuality.  I think they know it’d pointless for them to do anything like ground me about that, what with Dad bein’ bi-curious and all. But that doesn’t mean they _have_ to be lenient ‘bout my identity.

            I mean if I had the option, I’d be interested in dressing up as one of them Disney Princesses for Halloween. But those fellas are kind of like my friends, and they needed another person for their group.  I mean they’re the closest I have to friends, anyways. I don’t exactly fit in with the other fellas. But at least there’s Kenny. He seems to be the only one of them fellas who actually gives a hoot ‘bout me.

            I’m awful jealous of him. Kenny’s home life may not be all that swell with his dad in jail and his older brother flunking out of high school, but he’s still got something I don’t got: parents who show that they care and love their kids no matter what. I know it’s messed up since his dad gets violent when he’s drinking, but to be honest my dad isn’t that great to me, and he’s sober.

            On top of school and dance group, I do private math tutoring. Being in Advanced Algebra II has its benefits. By savin’ up all the money from tutoring, I’m going to buy a beautiful blue dress, just like the one Elsa wears in _Frozen._

            I want to try going out at night dressed up in nice clothes. Aside from that sleepover I crashed back in fourth grade, I don’t know much else about how people would treat me as a girl.  In a way, I hope that feeling of being warmly welcomed with all the compliments and nice gestures comes with it. Sure, girls can be catty sometimes, but they’re still a whole lot sweeter than boys. I still have that pretty blonde wig and a $10 make-up kit I got from the drugstore; it’s buried in my room under my old Professor Chaos get-up. All I need is the dress, and maybe a pair of nice shoes. I reckon that if I can be Marjorine, then maybe that’ll help me be happier the rest of the time.

            I guess you can say I’m as genderqueer as a three dollar bill.

            But after what happened at that Halloween party, bein’ genderqueer’s been the least of my worries. After that creepy note that showed up at Clyde’s place, I keep lookin’ over my shoulder, thinkin’ someone’s gonna come get me... Then again, that was a while ago, and nothin’ bad’s happened yet.

            As I was getting my things together at the end of dance, Bebe approached me.

            “Hey Butters, I don’t think me and my mom can give you a ride home tonight. I’m heading to the auditorium for my first musical rehearsal in five minutes.”

            “Ah, it’s alright, I understand. Thanks for lettin’ me know.”  We had our dance practices at the community center next door to the high school, so it wouldn’t have made sense for Bebe to drive when she could walk there.

            Unfortunately, that meant I was a little stuck. Dad was busy coaching, and Mom already sent me a text saying she had to work late. I walked outside after the rest of the group packed up and left. I could’ve just walked home, but I don’t live very close to the community center, and it was already getting dark out. Yeah, after standing around and looking down the street a few times, going back inside and doing homework for a while sounded like a MUCH better plan.

            “Come ‘ere, Stotch!”

            Before I could react, someone grabbed me and slapped a big piece of duct tape over my mouth. I tried to kick and scream, but I kept choking on the tape, and whoever grabbed me was too tough and holding onto me too tight.

            He dragged me back behind the school like an old sack of potatoes and threw me against the dumpster. I looked up and tried screaming again--I’d been kidnapped by Bane wearin’ a black ski mask!

            (...Or then again, maybe it was just a guy _dressed up_ like Bane wearing a black ski mask.)

            Either way I kept screaming through the tape, hoping someone would hear me. I don’t wanna be grounded when Mom sees I’m not there to be picked up!

            Bane slammed me against the dumpster again and just let loose, kickin’ and punchin’ at me like I was some kind of bug that needed squishin’. He got me in the gut, in the legs, in the chest, in the face… after a while, I lost track of all of the places he kept hitting me. I was screaming and crying the whole time, even past the point I was too tired to do it anymore. Suddenly, this was _way_ worse than just getting grounded.

            After he had his fun kickin’ the shit outta me, he pinned me down to the ground and yanked back my hair with one hand while pulling out a switchblade with the other.

            “Say goodbye, Butters Stotch,” he said. He scratched up the side of my neck with his knife, like those shaving cuts you get that aren’t real deep but hurt a WHOLE lot and just keep bleeding forever.

            “It’s time for you to die!”

            He got in one good slice before someone started shouting at him. The shouting must’ve spooked him, ‘cause he dropped the knife and ran off. Once he was gone, whoever was doing the shouting ran over to me, but between all the kicks to the face and the crying I was doing and the blood loss making me all woozy, I couldn’t tell who it was. All I could tell is that they were wearing orange… I think.

            “Hey, Butters, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you to a hospital, okay? J-Just stay awake, okay? Just stay with me, dammit!”

            I didn’t do a very good job. Everything faded to black pretty fast. But I did stay up long enough to wonder why no one ever mentions the orange blob yelling at you to stay awake whenever you’re about to die.

 

 

 


	6. Wendy- Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**VI. Wendy- Fall**

**_In which Wendy knows what she wants (and won’t let anyone forget it)._ **

 

          I think a lot of people in this town have a tendency to confuse confidence with conceitedness--at least, based on my personal experience.

          For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to do something important, something to create change in the grand scheme of things. Unlike those annoying Disney Princess songs where they just spin around their rooms and talk about wanting more, I actually _have_ a plan.

          What is that plan?

          I’ve known from a very young age that--contrary to what many people think--it’s not movie stars or athletes who impact nations, but politicians. While the girls in my class, including my friends, look up to Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, Miley Cyrus, and whoever else is popular in the entertainment news that week, I idolize women who actually _did_ something, and didn’t have to flash themselves on television to do it. Joan of Arc, Catherine the Great, Susan B. Anthony, Hillary Clinton-- _those_ are the women who make a difference in the long run. Those are the women who are memorialized in museums and books and taught about in history classes.

          And I want to be the next one.

    I have to finish high school first, though. I’m going to continue taking the highest-level English, history, and science courses I can to make sure I’m on top of my oratory and political games. Joining Debate Team is going to help me with that, too. I’m taking French in school, but I’m also studying Arabic through an online course. I’m going to remain an active member of SGA (and hopefully qualify for president of the student body by the time I’m a senior), and I have to keep on top of my community service. I have choir to keep my liberal arts sharp, as well as volleyball and my self-defense classes at the community center on Sundays to keep in shape.

          With a balance of good grades and an impressive resume of activities and special skills, I’m bound to get into any of my dream schools. I have ten--Brown, Yale, Harvard, Columbia, Northwestern, Princeton, Wellesley, Barnard, Tufts, and Georgetown--I guess I’ll decide which one I’m going to once I’ve been accepted. When I graduate college with a double major in political science and women’s studies , I’m going to finish law school (Columbia, Harvard, University of Chicago, Stanford, NYU, and Yale are just a few possibilities), and then relocate to a blue state to start working my way up the political ladder. If I start in a city council, I can move up to the state level, become a senator after I turn thirty, and then begin my campaign for the presidency once I’ve made a name for myself on Capitol Hill.

        You heard correctly: I’m not settling for anything less until I have become President of the United States.  As of recently, however, a potential obstacle has manifested itself in the form of none other than Eric Cartman.

          For the most part, I’m on civil terms with everyone at school. Cartman is the only major exception to that. He’s the only person in all of South Park I can honestly call a nemesis. So of course, he and I are stuck being debate partners for the rest of the school year. I know he’s planning something, and I am _not_ going to let him get away with it, especially if it involves sabotaging my future!

          I thought I’d be able to figure out how to avoid him, but then we got called into a meeting with the debate coach right before leaving for Thanksgiving break. I was hoping that the coach was finally going to bend to my request to shuffle the teams, or even better, that Cartman was going to be kicked off of the team for using racial slurs during a crossfire against a team made up of minority students.

          But no… we were called to a meeting because the coach said that we needed to “communicate” and work together to “synthesize” our arguments. Even though the _real_ problem is that Cartman’s an insensitive ass, now the two of us have to work _together_ to fix it.

    I can’t just avoid him, nor will I let him be the thing that keeps me out of Debate Regionals. Looks like I have to come up with a new plan...

 

* * *

 

 

          Stan and I were supposed to go on a movie date today. I really wish we could have—it would’ve been a nice way to get my mind off of Cartman. But right when we were getting ready to leave, Stan got a frantic phone call from Kenny; all I caught was that we had to rush to Hell’s Pass right away and that something was wrong with Butters. That kid sometimes reminded me of glass in that he was so… fragile, it seemed like he could too easily break emotionally and maybe physically. He may be our age, but he’s still like a fucking kid!  As Stan’s mom drove us to the hospital, I squeezed his hand reassuringly and reminded him to breathe…. I didn’t think he wanted to get an asthma attack at a time like this.

            We met the rest of the boys out in the waiting room. Kyle was still wearing his jersey, so I guess he rushed straight over from basketball practice. He was sitting down, rubbing his forehead with his hands, looking up a bit as soon as he noticed us enter. Kenny was pacing with his head down, occasionally looking up to the door doctors would come in through.  Cartman, on the other hand, was busy on his phone, like the fact we were in the hospital didn’t phase him at all.  

            “Kenny, what the hell happened to Butters?” Stan asked.

            “Hell if I know!” was Kenny’s best response. “We were at musical rehearsal, and out of nowhere, we hear all this screaming coming from out back. I go to check it out, and there’s this psychopath dressed as Bane kickin’ the shit out of Butters! Soon as the ambulance came to get him, I booked it over here and called you guys.”

            Poor thing.

            “Is Butters okay?”

            “I hope so, but he didn’t look too hot last I saw him.”

            “Do you guys think this had anything to do with what happened at Clyde’s?” Kyle asked.

            “I didn’t see who it was. It could’ve been anyone that beat Butters up,” Kenny said.

            “Yeah, and there are kind of a lot of people who beat Butters up,” Stan added.

            “Stan!” I jumped in. “All of your names turn up on a list, and now Butters is in the hospital! Are you _really_ trying to say the two aren’t related?”

            “I’m not saying they are or aren’t! I’m just trying to say that there’s no point in overreacting until we know for sure!”

            “Yeah, and Stan’s kinda got a point,” Cartman sneered. “Any pussy fag standin’ around outside a dance class is askin’ fer an ass-kickin.’”

            “That doesn’t mean it was justified!” God, I did _not_ want to deal with this tonight...

            “Doesn’t matter, Butters should think before he acts like a fuckin’ fag!”

            “It’s homophobic people like you that make these sorts of things happen!”

            “Whoa, bitch! Calm your tits, who said I had anythin’ to do with it?”

            “Who said you _didn’t_?”

            “Are you fuckin’ serious, Wendy?! God, first you blame me for us losing that debate to those Chinese kids from Leadville, now this! Anything else you wanna blame on me that wasn’t my fault? AIDS? Ebola? Cancer?”

            “First off, I blame you for that because you called the other team a bunch of communist Chinks and almost got us kicked out of the debate!”

             “Hey, I just call it like I see it!”

            “And the way you see everything is racist, sexist, anti-Semitic, and all around insane!”

            “At least I’m not a feminazi who can’t control her period!”

            “What does that have to do with anything?! You don’t even know how periods work!”

            “Duh, why would I have to? My balls don’t bleed every month just because God hates dudes.”

            I was _so_ close to punching him in that fat gut of his. You’d think the layer of blubber would protect him, but punching Cartman is a lot like punching all of the air out of a balloon, just a lot more satisfying. I might be one of the smallest kids in class at five-foot-two, but even five-foot-ten pieces of shit like Eric Cartman have nothing on three years of Krav Maga.

          But right before I could go at him, the sound of a throat clearing caught our attention.

            “Excuse me, are you the kids here asking about the Stotch boy?”

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny immediately jumped up and rushed to the doctor “How’s he doing?” “Is he okay?” “Can we go see him?”

            “I wouldn’t say he’s doing well, but he is stable,” the doctor explained. “The worst of it are the stitches on his neck. If that cut had gone any deeper, we might be having a very different conversation right now. On top of that, he has severe swelling and bruising across his face and side, and we’re checking x-rays now for what we believe are broken bones in his arm and bruised ribs.”

            “Can we at least go see him?” Kenny asked again.

            “I’m afraid not. Besides, he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. We’re not allowing any visitors until we can get in touch with his parents. I’d suggest you check with them and try coming back in a few days.”

            As the doctor left, we all sat silently for a few moments—Kenny falling back into his seat, rubbing his forehead; Kyle worriedly looking out to the direction of the doors as if hoping to catch a microscopic glimpse of what was going on, only for Stan to walk over and rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Cartman, I swear to God, actually seemed to have a tiny bit of fear in his eyes. But that could’ve just been my imagination, as he quickly stood up and said, “Well, look at the time. I gotta get home now. See ya later, dicks.”

            Kyle snarled in his direction but didn’t seem to have the energy to go after him at the moment. He sat beside Kenny and said, “Hey, man, if you want I’ll wait with you.”

Kenny, using the orange parka to conceal his rather obvious worry, looked to Kyle.           “Thanks, dude, but I gotta go get Karen from her friend’s house anyways…”

Standing up again, Kyle began pressing some numbers into his phone. “Well, if anything, I’ll just ask my Mom to give you guys a ride.”  

            Turning to Stan, I tried to smile reassuringly, taking both his hands in mine. Knowing Stan, he was definitely more scared than he was gonna let anyone else see.          “Hey if you just wanna go home or something that’s okay, I completely understand.”  I reassured him. Squeezing my hand, we began walking to the exit when we saw that Kenny and Kyle were already walking toward the elevator.  Stan give me a brief kiss on the cheek and said, “Thanks Wends, but I’d feel like a crappy boyfriend if we didn’t go see what else is playing tonight.”

    

* * *

 

            After Thanksgiving break, school resumed as normal. Cartman and I were stuck sitting outside of the classroom where we have our next debate tonight while the round inside went into overtime. There was an awkward silence, like there usually is between us, but it was tolerable.

            At least it _was_ until he opened his mouth. “I’m not gonna quit, ya know.”

            He didn’t bother looking over at me, so I didn’t bother looking over at him.  “Well, I hate to break it to you, Cartman, but neither am I.”

            Our last tournament of the semester was coming up, and things could have gone a lot better so far. I didn’t want to admit it, but I think our coach was right. Cartman and I working _against_ each other instead of _with_ each other was hurting our arguments. If I wanted to at least get to Regionals this year, I’d have to make a few sacrifices.

            “Look.” I took a long breath. Is this what swallowing your pride feels like? “If neither of us is planning to quit, then I think we should actually start… talking about our arguments and working on them together.”

            He let out a condescending chuckle, then turned towards me. “Why should I agree to give a hippie like you the upper hand in our bet?”

            “You’re not. You’re putting us on an equal playing field.” If I was going to get Cartman to play along, I needed to use our bet to my advantage. I sat up on my knees to meet him at eye level--eye contact is the most important thing in the art of persuasion. “Think about it, Cartman. Neither of us is going to come out on top if we just keep screwing with each other. But if we both get kicked out of Debate, then I still have plenty of things to impress the college admission boards with. You, on the other hand… well, let’s just say that I think us working together would be in your best interest. Don’t you agree?”

          I won’t lie, my pride swelled tenfold at the look on his face. It was like watching someone try to escape the dead end of a maze, only to realize that he was trapped. Looking up at the ceiling with his arms folded across his chest, Cartman muttered angrily, “Mah mahm goes out to Denver for work on Saturday nights. We c’n work at mah place after we get our next topic.”

            I hear the adults talking a lot about Liane Cartman and her “new job” in Denver. If my mom’s gossip circle is to be believed, then she found some work with a private escort service to help put money away for Cartman’s college tuition. I couldn’t imagine taking up that job; no paycheck could possibly be worth it. (Then again, I don’t think having Cartman as a son in general would be worth it.)

            I wonder if Cartman knows what his mom’s new job is. He’s always been in denial about his mom and her… “work choices,” but I wonder what he actually thinks about it all. Hmm. Could that be why he has such a negative perception of women?

          _‘Stop it right there, Wendy! Stop! Halt! Turn back, don’t you dare start sympathizing with that manipulative bastard! He’s the enemy!’_

“Sounds like a plan,” I told him, right as the door opened and we could head inside to prepare.

            And so began the era of Testaburger and Cartman, working _together_ as a team.      

           


	7. Kyle- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta Lady Mayflower!   
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**VII. Kyle- Winter**

 

_**In which Kyle sometimes wishes he wasn't always right.** _

 

           I rarely hate being right.  Being right is the very thing that assures me that, no matter what I do, I'm always better than Cartman, and it's the very thing that'll get me out of this shithole.

           The thing I hated being right about?

           The fact that some psycho with a grudge is after me and my friends. This was one of those times I hoped Stan was right about it being a sick joke.

           But after hearing about what happened to Butters and Yates asking us about the leaflet with our names on it, it's clear some serious shit is going down.

           I never thought I’d see the day when Stan is insisting we study for an English midterm. Then again, I don’t blame him for not wanting to think about it… Usually I'd wanna get to the bottom of something like this, but in high school every grade counts and I couldn't afford to let anything ruin my streak of good grades - especially with my parents all over my ass about that shit. So far, I’m doing alright. I have mostly A’s, maybe a B-plus or two. The one class I need to study extra-hard for is Spanish; I’m still wavering between a C-plus and B-minus there. The only reason Stan and I are studying English and not Spanish (since those are our only two classes we have together) is because I need an excuse to study without Mom hovering over my shoulder all night. I know she means well, but if she wants her “little bubbeleh" to succeed, she needs to understand personal space.

           "Kyle, you write down those three prompts Mr. Peterson gave us that might show up on the test?”

           “Yeah, hold on… Okay, first one’s _Lord of the Flies_ and how the pig head and the conch shell symbolize power and what kind and all that bullcrap… second one’s about the roles of family in _Fall of the House of Usher_ and _Cask of Amontillado_ … and the last one’s _Romeo and Juliet_ and what Shakespeare was trying to say by connecting young love to committing suicide.” While Stan scribbled some bullet points in his notebook, I paused to rub my temples. “I _really_ hope we don’t get that last one. It’s such a headache.”

          “Why’s that?”

          “‘Cause it’s so fuckin’ _stupid!_ I mean, they basically end up killing each other, just because they can’t get their shit together! And they’re our fucking age! I mean, c’mon, just get over your shit already!”

           Of course Stan, the one with the on-again/off-again girlfriend, was laughing. “That’s kind of the fuckin’ point, man.”

           “Sorry, what?”

            He took a few breaths to stop laughing, then explained, “I mean, think about it. The whole play is basically just saying that if parents don’t let their kids do dumb shit, they’ll find a way to do _dumber_ shit, and then everyone just gets even more fucked in the end.”

           I thought about that for a few moments.

           "That's gotta be the gayest fucking thing you've said today... But I guess you’ve got a point... I dunno. I mean, the closest I ever had to a relationship was Cotswolds's homeschooled sister in third grade."

           "Dude, that wasn't even a relationship, that was you having a lame crush that turned her into a slut, and then she disappeared."

           "C’mon man, gimme some credit! It's not like I’ve got time for relationship crap!"

           "Well, maybe Wendy could hook you up with someone for a double date."

           "Whoa, wait, what?!"

           Stan quickly looked back down at his notebook, trying to hide his face behind his hand. "I-I mean, you said you don't get out much, and--"

    _I gotta feelin’~ that tonight’s gonna be a good night! That tonight’s gonna be a good, good night~!_

           Luckily, I was saved from that awkward conversation by the obnoxious blaring of my phone. Not so luckily, it was Mom…

            “Kyle Abraham Broflovski, where in God’s name are you?”

            “Studying with Stan, Mom, I told you that!”

            “And I’m sure that’s going wonderfully, bubbie, but it’s about time you bring that tokhes of yours back home, okay?”

            Ignoring Stan (who was doing a shit job of trying not to laugh), I tried to think up an excuse to stay over. It was the third night of Chanukah, which meant Skyping with Mom’s family in Connecticut, and I did _not_ want to put up with my cousin Kyle tonight.

            Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of my _Español Uno_ book. “But Mom, we’re just about to start going over Spanish! A-And if I don’t get an A on this next test, my grade might drop from a B to a C! And Stan’s way better at this than I am, I _really_ need his help!”

            I held my breath when the other end of the line went silent. After a few seconds, though, she said, “Alright, bubbie, just make sure you wish Cousin Kyle a _Chanukah Sameach_ on Facebook. And make sure you’re home by eight, ‘cause I don’t want you missing the candle-lighting, okay?”

            “Okay, thanks Mom, bye.”

            I quickly hung up the call, just in time to see Stan biting his lips to hold back an explosive laugh. I rolled my eyes as I grabbed my Spanish binder and flash cards. “Just spit it out and get it over with, ass-face.”

            Rather than full-out laughing, Stan opened his book, and in a frighteningly-accurate Jersey accent, said, “Nothin’, now come on, my little bubbie-tokhes, time to go over yer Spanish.”

            I hid my face in my hands so Stan wouldn't see the smile accompanying my laugh, as if denying him the satisfaction of my embarrassment. "Bubbie-tokhes? The fuck, man?" I challenged.

           "It's not like your middle name would've worked, that embarrassment tactic died a while ago."

           "More like it only works when my Mom uses it.”

            “I know, right? It’s like the entire reason parents give us middle names is to just humiliate us when we get older.”

            “Easy for you to say. You didn’t have Bar Mitzvah invitations with your full name _and_ Hebrew name sent out to everyone in town.”

            “Oh, yeah… Man, Cartman had a ball with that for fuckin’ _months._ ”

            “Don’t remind me. Doesn’t help that he nearly ruined the whole damn weekend on top of that.”

            “Yeah, seriously. So, you need me to help you study Spanish?”

            “Yeah. Man, I’m _so_ glad we get to go on break after these tests.”

            “I know, me too! I still gotta think of what to get Wendy for Christmas, though. Her birthday was a few days ago, but she said she wanted to wait to celebrate it after finals, so I figured I would just combine her birthday with Christmas, but I just don’t know what the fuck I’m going to get her…”

            I figured the conversation would circle back to Wendy eventually. Stan's a great guy and all, but if he wants things to work with Wendy for the next few years, he's gotta actually know what the fuck she likes. “Why don’t you ask Bebe? They’re still best friends, right? I mean, only thing I could think of is some girl power shit or whatever.”

            Stan pinched his nose with a groan. “That doesn’t help. Wendy’s room is the National Feminist Library, no way I could find something she doesn’t already have. Seriously, she wants me to read Jane Eyre with her this summer before we read it for class so the teacher doesn't 'ruin the enjoyment' or whatever."

            Now it was my turn to bite back a snicker. “Dude, you’re fuckin’ whipped.”

            “Don’t remind me. Can we just study Spanish already?”

 

* * *

 

 

           "Kyle! Kyle!"

           I shifted in my bed to sit up as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes only to find Stan sitting beside my bed, the door slightly ajar.

           Another thing about being super best friends: knowing about the extra key under the doormat and getting inside without a problem. It’s nothing unusual at this point. I used to show up at Stan’s place in the middle of the night plenty of times when we were ten. “The fuck, man, aren’t you supposed to be asleep? It’s Christmas Eve.”

           "Yeah, but I need your help to set up Wendy's birthday slash Christmas surprise!"

           "What?" I threw off the covers and moved toward the closet to find a pair of pants to throw over my boxers as Stan explained.

           "Look, I finally got a hold of Bebe, and I think I have the perfect plan. After she finishes her debate thing with Cartman, I’m going to bring her out to Stark’s Pond and then surprise her with a picnic and birthday cake!”

              “Then why are you waking me up at 5AM?” I asked, zipping up my pants before grabbing my jacket and ushanka.

            “Because I have to go set it up now before the sun comes up so that no one notices it and ruins the surprise! And I have to go write ‘happy birthday’ on the lake! And I need you to come guard it with me until Wendy gets there.”

            I _really_ wanted to go back to sleep, but after everything that’s been going on, I also wanted to make sure things would work out with Stan and Wendy. There was a maniac on the loose, she was probably worried sick about him. Plus, he’s my super best friend, how could I say no? So I adjusted my hat and turned to Stan and gave him the best smile I could muster at that hour:

           "Okay, man, where do we start?"

 

* * *

 

 

            Wendy better be fucking grateful when she gets out here. As soon as she shows up, I’m going home and going back to bed. We’ve been sitting out at Stark’s Pond for _hours_ ; I don’t care what they say about jet lag, I can barely keep my eyes open.

           Since 6:30 am, we've been getting the right kinds of spray paint for ice, hiring a homeless guy doing chalk art to write the message in big bright purple cursive letters, paying said homeless guy, having Stan watch the ice while I went to buy decorations and signs for Wendy to follow (I suggested tree carving, but he said that'd just make Wendy go on a rampage about harming trees and the environment), and then I watched everything while Stan went to pick up the cake, the food, candles, lighter, and picnic blanket. Then I went home to get us breakfast while he set things up and now he was finally getting back from picking up his present.

           "What did ya get her, lover boy?" I joked as he stopped running, panting with his hands on his knees like he just finished a football game.

            "I made her a mix tape."

            I had to fight _so_ hard not to burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Haven’t you made her, like, a billion mixtapes by now?”

           Clearly flustered, he sat down beside me with the gift box and said, "Well, the last one I gave her was in fifth grade, and then we broke up to see if it was just a 'kiddie thing' or not, and this time I want her to know that I'm just as serious as she is!"

           I stopped laughing as I noticed Stan picking at his fingers through his gloves.           “Stan? You okay, something wrong?”

            He took in and let out a heavy breath before looking up to face me. "I think Wendy wants to do it."

           "Didn't we have this conversation before?"

           "Not really... I mean, that time was me feeling peer pressure, but when we had our last date night we went over to her place after the movie. Her parents were still out so she invited me in and then just locked the door and closed the windows, and after we made out a little she said she wanted to take it to the next level."

           "Oh... Oh wow... Whoa... I mean so... What happened?"

           "Her parents pulled up in the driveway so we went downstairs and turned on the TV so they wouldn't suspect anything, and then I went home… I mean it was just making out…Still... But the thing is.... I was kinda relieved they got back before anything happened.  I mean it's nice to know that she's ready, but..."

           "You still aren't ready." I didn't even ask it as a question; it was clear as day that Stan was _really_ hesitant about having sex with Wendy.

           "Don't get me wrong, I love her and all... But I'm scared that she'll think less of me for not wanting to do it...yet. A-and I don't want her to think that I don't love her or anything, but then there's some part of me that's worried I'll regret it."

            At least now I understood why he woke me up so damn early. But something still didn’t add up. “Regret it? Why?”

           Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stan exclaimed, "Dude, I don't know! I know I shouldn't be scared of any of this, but I just don't wanna fuck it up again between us by, well..." Releasing the bridge of his nose he turned away, as if saying to no one, "You know what? Never mind, forget it. It doesn’t matter, I’m just being a fuckin’ pussy.”

           "Stan you're not---"

           "AAHHHH!! GUYS! YAH GUYS!!! CALL 9-1-1!!!"         

            “Cartman?!” Yeah, that was the fat-ass, alright, _actually running_ out of the woods and towards us across the lake… with-- wait, what the hell is that thing? Is he holding an urn--

            _BANG! BANG!_

The ice at the center of the pond shattered, sending frozen shards and splashes of slushy water all over the place. Cartman’s leg followed right behind, crumpling under him in a massive splatter of blood. _CRASH!_ Without his leg to hold him up, he went down hard, smashing _straight through_ the layer of ice and sinking straight down into the pond.

            “ _The fuck do you think you’re going?!_ ”

            “Dude, I think that was Wendy!”

            “911, what’s your emergency?”

            After watching Stan dart off towards the woods, hearing the operator’s voice in my ear snapped me back to reality. I hardly even remembered dialing the phone in all of the rush. “U-Uh, yeah, we’re at Stark’s Pond, send help! I-I think our friend just got shot at and fell through the ice--”

            “Wendy, no!!”

            _SPLASH!_ I looked up a little bit too late, just in time to see Stan shouting at the water with a purple jacket in his hand and a pair of black boots by his feet.

            “Just get to Stark’s Pond as quick as you can!” I snapped at the operator. I hung up right afterwards. Don’t think you’re supposed to do that, actually. I wasn’t thinking; all I was focused on was running over there.

            Before I got there, Wendy’s head popped up above the water. She gasped for breath a few times before half-paddling herself back to solid land in what felt like no time at all, with God-knows-how-many pounds of anti-Semitic bastard hooked under her left arm. And without missing a beat, she was barking orders at Stan to try and stop the bleeding while she went straight into doing CPR.    

            There was a crumpled piece of paper in the snow next to where Wendy dragged Cartman. It was sopping wet and about to fall apart, but I could still see writing on it. I picked it up to see what was on it… and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

            _WEEOOEEOO!_

The paramedics were on the scene in minutes; half of them were tending to Cartman, who was still mumbling to himself as they hauled him off in the ambulance, while two others and a cop were tending to Wendy and asking her all sorts of questions.

            The snow behind me crunched, up until I felt a nudge on my arm.

            “What’s that?”

            I looked down at the paper in my hand before showing Stan what it said. It didn’t take long before the same look of fear and panic that I just had showed up on his face, too.

            “Dude, we are in some _seriously_ fucked-up shit now.”

 

**Kenny McCormick**

**~~Butters Stotch~~ ** ~~~~

**~~Eric Cartman~~ ** ~~~~

**Kyle Broflovski**

**Stan Marsh**


	8. Cartman- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux!  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**VIII. Cartman- Winter**

**_In which Cartman gets a special delivery_ **

 

Christmas is the most kick-ass time of year. So is my birthday. Because those are the times of the year when I get presents!

Unfortunately, I don't _get_ my Christmas presents this year, or at least not on time. Mom's not home today. _Again_. God, I hate this stupid-ass new job of hers. So instead of playing with all my awesome new toys and games, I'm sitting around bored, trying to do some research for this stupid debate topic.

We've been workin' on it since last week, but Wendy insisted we keep goin' over it to see if we can make it stronger or somethin'. I can't believe I'm sayin' this but she was actually right about workin' together. The "resolution," as it's called for January, was about usin' development assistance over military aid in some part of Africa. As much as I wanted to disagree with her, she had a good point 'bout usin' Iraq as a main point for the argument in favor of it. And I never thought I'd see the day, but she actually agreed with mah point that lots of countries would totally fall apart if they didn't have a kick-ass military around to keep an eye on shit. I'm actually _really_ serious about doin' well on this debate… But fuck if I'm going to let her know that. I gotta make sure the ho knows I'm NOT going soft on her.

I thought about trying to teach Mr. Kitty how to scratch her face up. "Mr. Kitty, come here!" Now that I think about it, where did he go? I haven't seen him around since yesterday. "Cat, get out here!" When he _still_ wouldn't show up, I got mad and hopped off the couch. "Mr. Kitty, get out here 'fore I kick you in the nuts!"

_You a stupid ho, you-you a stupid ho~! You a stupid ho, you-you a stupid ho~!_

Like Nicki Minaj sang, the ho was callin' me. So I ran up to my room and answered the phone. "'Sup, ho?"

"Speak for yourself, fat-ass. I'm walking over to your place right now; the new topic was just posted online."

"Alright, see ya soon, then, bitch."

:Whatever, Cartman. Merry Christmas, by the way."

"Huh?"

"What? Can't I be polite and wish you an early merry Christmas?"

"Ugh, fahn, whatever - merry Christmas, Testaburger."

I rolled my eyes as I hung up the call and went back downstairs. "God-dammit, Mr. Kitty, where the hell you at?!" I had to hurry up and find him before the Testabitch showed up; can't be distracted from showing her up at debating 'cause I can't find my stupid cat. What the hell, Mr. Kitty? You're a cat, not some pussy fag dog who runs outside whenever it feels like!

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._ Huh; guess the ho doesn't live as far away as I thought.

I opened the door, ready to shoot off some insults before Wendy could get inside, but there was no one there.

"'AY! You guys think yer kewl playin' Ding Dong Ditch on people?! Come ring the doorbell to my face, I'll fuck you up good! Come on, where are y-AAH, DAMMIT!"

I kicked my foot on something on the way out the door.

Son of a bitch.

Screaming and cursing, I looked down to see what it was. It was a silver vase, all shiny and polished and on its side, with a little bit of black dusty stuff around the sealed rim. Oh shit. _It was an urn._

I got down and sat it back up; there was something tied around it, right under the lid. I took it off to get a better look. It was an ID tag, attached to a little collar.

**Mr. Kitty Cartman**

**28201 East Bonanza St.**

**South Park, CO 80440**

**719-669-6969**

What? No, seriously, _what?!_ T-this wasn't… I-It couldn't be… A-Am I just…?

"Oh, haha, Kahl, very funny!" I snapped, looking around. Stupid ginger Jew with his stupid pranks.

"Seriously, get the fuck out here and gimme my damn cat 'fore I turn yer parents into chili, you dick-sauced Jew rat!"

"If you took better care of your pets, maybe Mr. Kitty would still be with us."

I looked up. No Kyle; he was too big and not _nearly_ Jewish enough. What he _WAS_ , though, was some asshole dressed up like Bane from _Dark Knight Rises_ in a black ski mask.

"Dude, Halloween was, like, three months ago, and everyone knows _Rises_ was the shittiest of the Nolan Batman movies. So how 'bout you gimme my cat and get the hell off my property 'fore I call the cops and get someone to shoot yer ass?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Eric. I'm not the one getting shot tonight." He reached into his pocket and- _Oh shit, he has a gun!_

"You are."

* * *

In that moment of terror, I knew what had to be done. I did what any brave American would have done in the face of death, danger, and crazy kids with handguns.

I ran for my fucking life, what do you think I did?!

With Mr. Kitty's urn in hand, I took off 'fore he had a chance to pull the trigger. I lost him in the woods (thank Christ for football training) and made my way over towards Stark's Pond. Kyle and Stan were sitting out on the other side of the water, which had paint and food and shit all over the place; probably would've called them on being faggy if I had the time. "AAHHHH! GUYS! YAH GUYS! CALL 9-1-1!"

_Bang! Bang!_

The next few seconds were kind of a blur. The ice exploded, something stabbed into my fuckin' leg, everything went dark and wet and cold… And then a light, and a whole bunch of sirens that I kind of wished would shut the fuck up, and a pair of sharp gray eyes shouting, "Cartman, stay with me! The ambulance is right here, just… Eric? Eric, c'mon, focus! Focus on me, okay?"

Last thing I remember 'fore I blacked out was a pair of guys in suits tryin' to put me on some kind of truck and take Mr. Kitty from me. Even through all of that, I managed to keep hold of the urn, and I sure as _hell_ wasn't givin' it to THOSE fuckers.

Maybe this was just a dream; just another one of my bogus nightmares, that's all. Maybe I would wake up and Mr. Kitty would be okay and Testaburger would show up at my house and I could go back to humiliating her and going on with my life.

...God, I fuckin' _wish_ that's all it was...


	9. Stan- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux!  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**IX. Stan- Winter**

_**In which Stan continues to tell himself "it's nothing"** _

 

"So why did Cartman have that urn?"

"Maybe he thought it was hot cocoa mix?"

"What, did he steal it from some crazy person with a gun?"

"We live in South Park; _everyone_ here is a crazy person with a gun."

"But what was Wendy doing with him? Did she just _happen_ to wander over and-"

"Kyle, stop. I don't know, okay? Everything happened _way_ too fuckin' fast. Just take a breather, and we can ask Cartman what happened later, okay?"

He didn't take a breather - in fact, he looked even _more_ stressed out than usual - but at least he quit theory-crafting. "Alright, alright." I don't blame him, though. I'm trying not to let on, but the whole thing has me on edge, too. First Butters, now this?

"Excuse me, boys?" One of the nurses poked her head into the waiting room. "Miss Testaburger may see visitors now."

I grabbed the box of cake and Wendy's present, and the two of us walked down to where the nurse pointed us. We passed Wendy's parents in the hall - the nurse let them in first - but they were busy chatting about something else. (I still waved hi on our way in, just in case. You can't be too careful when it comes to impressing your girlfriend's parents.)

"Remember dude, act cool," I reminded Kyle. "Wendy's probably pissed that she has to spend Christmas in the hospital."

"You don't have to tell me twice." He gave a nervous glance down the hall. "Come on, let's just get this over with. You know I fuckin' hate hospitals."

When we opened the door, Wendy was sitting in her bed, wrapped up in blankets and looking kind of down. She looked up when she heard us, though, and a big smile broke out on her face when we started singing, " _Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Wendy, happy birthday to you!_ "

"Aw, Stan, thank you!" As soon as I put down the cake and present, she jumped up and gave me a big hug. "That's so sweet of you!"

She buzzed for a nurse, and asked her for some plates and utensils so we could dig into the cake. "Why'd you ask for four plates?" Kyle asked after the nurse left.

"I figured we should save a slice for Cartman. Y'know, once he wakes up. If I got shot in the leg, I'd probably want a slice of cake to cheer me up."

"Just don't let him find out you have a whole birthday cake, or he'll eat the whole thing," Kyle joked.

The two of us laughed, but Wendy looked dead serious. "I know you two like making jokes, but you guys need to start being careful. Cartman's pretty lucky I made it to his place when I did. The guy who shot at him was this psycho dressed up in a Bane costume with a black mask - the same guy Kenny found beating up Butters. Plus, there was that list again, and you two are still on it! I think he might be coming after one of you next."

"Hey, hey, relax." I wrapped an arm around her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "We'll be okay. Besides, considering that me and Kyle—"

"Kyle and I…" she corrected. I affectionately rolled my eyes at her.

"Whatever… Whenever I'm not with you or at school, I'm usually with Kyle. This Bane freak can't do anything to one of us without the other being there to have his back."

She didn't seem one hundred percent at ease with that answer, but she seemed to accept it with a simple "thanks."

"Besides," Kyle began, leaning against the wall, "after seeing you fish Lard-Butt out of the water like that, I doubt Bane's gonna mess with anybody with you around."

"Yeah, where'd you suddenly pick up super-strength?" I asked.

"I didn't," she answered with an annoyed eye-roll. "It's Archimedes' principle, Stan. Things weigh less in the water. Besides, even if they didn't, what's that supposed to mean? That I'm supposed to be weak 'cause I'm some little girl? Haven't you ever heard of those women that can lift cars out of the way if it means saving their children?"

"You weren't saving some little kid, though," Kyle pointed out. (Thank goodness he jumped in before I stuck my foot in my mouth even worse. I should really know better than saying stuff like that by now.) "You were saving _Cartman._ "

"Look, no matter how terrible he is and how much I hate him, I still have my ethics."

Kyle folded his arms and shrugged off the conversation with a quick "fair enough," but I kept thinking about it. I wasn't about to ask her - again, not digging my hole any deeper than it has to be - but he has a point. Ethics, schmethics, she went in after _Cartman,_ her worst enemy, everything she hates about society, the evil mastermind behind almost everything bad that happens here! I figured she would've just let him drown, or at LEAST think about it for a second instead of jumping straight in like she did. Heck, even me and Kyle probably would've hesitated for a second.

Maybe Kenny was onto something. Maybe I don't know Wendy as well as I think I do. I mean, I always know what Kyle's going to do in certain situations, especially when Cartman's involved. With Wendy, I have no idea. How can they fight so much, but then she just fucking _saves his life_ out of the blue like that?

...Maybe it's nothing. You know what? It's probably nothing. My brain's probably just tired from thinking about all of the weird stuff that's been happening since Halloween. It'll be fine. Nothing bad is happening to me, and nothing bad is happening to Kyle. I'm sure that gun-toting psycho's going to be caught any day now. How hard could it be to find a kid running around town in a Bane costume?

...Then again, the adults here _are_ kind of idiots...

* * *

_"Sorry to keep you waiting, Stanley. I had to slip into something a little more…_ comfortable. _"_

 _Wendy leaned against the wall, wearing nothing but a slinky black dress that was already half-falling off and a licking-her-lips kind of look on her face like a predator about to close in for the kill. I was laying on the bed, with nothing to hide behind but my boxers (...not that I had much to hide at the moment, but that would probably change before long...), and all of my muscles tightened up as she walked over to the bed and climbed up on top of me like some kind of sexy panther-lady. Before I had time to_ think _, much less ask any questions, she pinned her legs around my waist and pressed herself against me as we started making out._

_Oh my God._

_This was it._

_It was happening._

_Her dress practically melted away as I started exploring her body with my hands. I've always had a thing for slim girls; there's something so sexy about the feeling of my hands going up and down her sides, feeling her ribs and her spine as she starts writhing around. I felt the sudden rush of hot breath against my neck and let out a loud moan as soft, thin fingers started pawing at my chest._

_We were alone. No one was watching, no one was judging. And more than the almost-sex, not having to worry about everyone else for a change was kind of… nice._

_I ground my hips into his while they ravaged my neck with sloppy kisses and nibbles from a slightly-crooked smile. I moved one of my hands up into his hair, knotting my fingers in those impossibly-soft curls and never letting them go. I was harder than I've been in_ ages _, and every time I felt his body against mine, it just sent_ fireworks _through me._

 _Then it stopped. I moaned like a bitch when the kisses and nibbles stopped, squirming and tensing my fingers, doing everything short of begging for it to never end. He rested his head against mine and I finally looked up… only to find_ green _eyes looking back at me._ Not gray ones.

_"Good morning, sexy."_

"Kyle?!"

I practically fell out of bed with how hard I jumped. I was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath and my heart was about to burst out of my chest. What the _fuck_ was that about?!

I went to get up, maybe take a long, cold shower, but… let's just say there was _something_ in my way. God-dammit. So I buried myself under the covers and tried to deal with the problem as quick as I could.

I tried to get that dream out of my head. I tried to picture Wendy in that sleazy night gown. Hell, I tried to picture her naked. I tried to hear her moaning and screaming, feel her chest while she's riding my dick, playing with her hair...

Nothing. No matter how hard I "tried," I kept going back to the dream. To Kyle. I kept going back to his wild red hair and how good it would feel against my hands; back to that tall, strong, lanky body of his and the way you could see all of those muscles move when he leaned and stretched; back to imagining him red-faced and drenched in sweat, like how he gets after a basketball game; back to imagining us in bed without anybody to watch us…

...And after I finished making a mess in my sheets, back to thinking about us laying in bed on a lazy Sunday, and that feeling of safety and care that I only get during a sleepover.

God-fucking-dammit, brain, what the hell is your problem? Seriously, what is _with_ me lately? ...Kenny wasn't onto something, was he? Pfft, no, of course not, what am I saying? It's just...I dunno, puberty or something. Just my brain trying to play tricks on me.

It's nothing. Just...nothing.

* * *

"Okay, Stan, I'm gonna ask you again: are you _really sure_ you're in love with Wendy?"

"Yes, Kenny, I'm sure. Stop getting on my case about it, would ya?"

It was New Year's Day, and Kenny brought Karen and Ruby over to my place for a play-date. I don't blame him for wanting to avoid his house; his dad was released from jail right after Christmas. I think he's still scared that his dad's gonna go on another drunk rampage and beat up Karen again.

I don't _mind_ hanging out with Kenny. We are friends, at least most of the time-promise. He's just been SO on me about this Kyle and Wendy thing lately! I can't even mention Kyle's _name_ without him trying to stick his fuckin' nose into things. Seriously, the whole thing has me thinking that I need new friends. (Or that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.)

"Come the fuck on, Stan," Kenny whined. "It was Wendy's birthday AND Christmas, and you made her a fuckin' mix-tape CD thing-"

"Hey, I also tried to surprise her with a picnic AND got her a cake! Not my fault everything went to shit 'cause some knock-off Batman villain shot Cartman."

"-And THEN had a kinky wet dream with Kyle in it! And you're trying to act like it's just no big deal!"

"'Cause it's not! It's probably just puberty fucking with my brains or some shit!"

"Stan, you're fifteen! And last time I checked, having gay dreams about your best _guy_ friend wasn't a side effect of puberty!"

"Who said anything about being gay?" ...Probably shouldn't have jumped at that as loud as I did. God-dammit.

"Stan, just admit that you have a raging boner for Kyle."

"No, because I don't! I've always liked Wendy, everyone knows that! Why would I suddenly decide that I just don't like her anymore?"

"Because love doesn't work like that, Stan. You don't get to just _decide_ who you fall in and out of love with. If it worked like that, we wouldn't have had to write that stupid fuckin' essay on _Romeo and Juliet_."

"Oh, really? And since when are you a relationship expert, Mr. I-Signed-Up-For-Musicals-Just-to-Get-Blowjobs?"

His first response was that big, pervy grin of his. "First off, it is _totally_ working, so thanks again for the tip-off." After I rolled my eyes at him, he tried to put his serious face back on. "Look, I'm not sayin' I'm a relationship expert; I'm _just_ saying that you're the only person who can't see what's going on here. Hell, I'm pretty sure a dead monkey could've caught on by now."

I grumbled and pinched the bridge of my nose. "We're done talking about this, Kenny."

He shrugged and dropped the subject. The guys like to joke that the nose-bridge thing is kind of my safe word - seeing it means it's time to cut your shit out. I wished I could've called one of the other guys over, just to keep Kenny busy for a while. But Cartman still wasn't walking much, I had _no_ idea where Butters went, Wendy's been hiding out since the Christmas thing… and that just left Kyle. No way I could call him, not with Kenny around. Ugh, even just _thinking_ about it made me sick. Just hearing his voice in my head sent my stomach into somersaults; my heart pounded, and I felt light-headed, and I just wanted to go upstairs and throw up…

Maybe I'm coming down with something. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe this is a weird thing that happens when you're super-best friends with someone your whole life. Or maybe it's just...nothing. Yeah, that's it. It _has_ to be nothing.


	10. Kenny- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux!  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**X. Kenny- Winter**

_**In which Kenny senses something isn't right.** _

 

Okay, so a musical isn't exactly as easy as scoring a lap-dance from a Raisins girl. You know what musical _is_ , though? Fuckin' worth it! Groping Jenny Simon in a Little Red Riding Hood costume, making out with Bebe AND the hot senior chick playing the Baker's Wife onstage, _and every song is about blowjobs!_ Man! I'm scoring thirty- to seventy-minute hummers all week long! And the best part? All the girls are totally clean! No STDs are gonna bite me in the ass THIS time around! Man, I need to personally apologize to any dude I've ever made fun of for doing musicals. Clyde and I have been trading high-fives non-stop since rehearsals started.

The BJ train kind of tapered off after Thanksgiving break, though. At least for a little while. Guess that's what happens when one of your best friend gets the shit kicked out of them by some creep in a bad Halloween costume behind the school.

The doctors said Butters was lucky that I found him when I did, or else he would've died. He was in that coma for, like, a week. I made sure to visit him every day, just to make sure he was okay. I wanted him to have a friend that was happy to see him when he woke up. I saw how happy it made Karen last summer, even with how beat-up she was.

As soon as we got word that Butters was awake, me, Stan, and Kyle ran over to Hell's Pass to see him. He was still covered in bruises that stood out like big, gross purple splotches, but at least he was cleaned up and some of the cuts were starting to heal.

The best part, though, was the fact he was trying his best to smile when we walked in the room. "Hiya, fellas!"

"Hey Butters, how yah feelin'?" I asked him.

"Well, I'm awake now, so I guess I'm okay," he said with a giggle.

Before we could start chatting and cracking jokes, the door burst open, and Butters' parents filed in. "Butters, what is the meaning of this?!" his dad snapped. "You're already grounded, now you pull this?!"

Butters practically buried himself under his blankets. "W-What? N-No, Dad, I-I didn't do nothin'!"

I never really liked Stephen Stotch. Sure, my dad can be a drunken asshole, and my family in general is shitty, but at least we still love each other to some extent. Butters' dad is just the fuckin' devil. ...Y'know what? Not even - that's uncalled for, Satan's kind of a cool dude if you stay on his good side. Stephen Stotch is _worse_ than the fuckin' devil. Really, who grounds their son for getting beat up so bad he lands in the hospital?!

I wanted to jump in and stick up for the kid, but Sergeant Yates stepped in before I could. "Calm down, Mr. Stotch, you can punish your son after I finish asking him and his friends about this piece of evidence."

All four of us exchanged a bunch of nervous looks. "...Evidence?"

Yates pulled out a plastic bag with a bloody piece of paper inside:

**Kenny McCormick**

~~ **Butters Stotch** ~~

**Eric Cartman**

**Kyle Broflovski**

**Stan Marsh**

That explains what happened on Halloween. That fuckin' psycho must've killed me then! That's why my name isn't crossed out! He probably forgot just like everyone else! I was about to say something, but then I noticed Stan and Kyle clamming up like a pair of pussies. Butters didn't look like he was about to talk, either, so I stayed quiet. After a few seconds, Yates and Mr. Stotch headed back into the hall.

"What the fuck, guys?" I hissed at them. "Wasn't that the same list we… I mean, you guys saw at Craig's party? Why didn't you guys speak up?"

"Not a chance, Kenny," Kyle snapped. "Last thing I need are the cops showing up at my place because some crazy guy's on the loose. You know how anal my mom gets over dumb stuff, think of how bad she would flip her shit if she thought we're all in danger!"

"Besides, what if we all get busted for no reason over this thing?" Stan added. "You know how dumb the adults are around here. We tell them something about that note, and before you know it, one of us is heading to jail because they think we did it."

"Y-Yeah, and I'm already grounded as it is!" Butters cried. "I don't wanna get even _more_ grounded! Y-You heard how mad my dad is!"

So I gave it up. "Alright, you guys win." But that didn't mean I was giving up on the case. I was going to get to the bottom of this. I was going to find the fucker that hurt Butters, and his ass was gonna _pay._ No one messes with my friends and gets away with it.

* * *

Dad came home from jail the day after Christmas. Mom threw whatever decorations she could find on a tree in the backyard (we can never afford an _actual_ tree), then brought home some beans and made us a day-late Christmas dinner to celebrate. She even used her Olive Garden bonus to buy us each a present: Kevin got a pair of motorcycle gloves, I got a _Game of Thrones_ Dothraki guide, and Karen got an Olaf plush (that I _swear_ wants to suck my soul out...Have you seen the eyes on those things? Creepy as shit…).

That night, I got shaken out of bed. I rolled over and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes just enough to see that it was Karen, nine years old and clinging to her rag doll and new Olaf plush like she was a little (er, littl _er_ ) kid again.

"Kenny, can I tell you somethin'?"

"Sure, Kare-Bear," I yawned. "What's up?"

She bit her lower lip nervously. "You remember how I told you 'bout my Guardian Angel that would always come see me whenever I was afraid 'r sad?" _That_ sure woke me up. "Well… I-I told 'im that I wanted to be a big girl and deal with everythin' myself, but..."

She stopped to sniffle and wipe her nose. I could see her shaking, even in the dark. So I pulled her up on my bed and gave her a big hug, and she buried her face in my chest and soaked my shirt with her crying. "I want him to come back!" she sniffled. "I'm scared! W-What if Daddy hurts me again? I-I don't want him ta be mad at me, but I don't want him goin' back to jail! The whole thing's all my fault, and-"

"Whoa, hold on." _Her_ fault?! Whoever told my baby sister that this whole mess was _her_ fault just earned a top spot on my shit list. I pulled her out of my chest and picked her head up and said, "Karen, _none_ of this is your fault! If anything, it's _Dad's_ fault for bein' a drunk asshole and takin' things out on you."

She stopped crying and tried to wipe her eyes on her rag doll's arms, but she still looked pretty torn up. I can't stand watching my little sister cry. I started the whole Mysterion gig because I wanted to make this town safer for her. Granted, shit got a little crazy for a while, but that's what it always came back to - taking care of Karen. I still remember that day, the one where she told "Mysterion" that she wanted to be a big girl and deal with problems by herself. It took me a while to get my head around it, but I gave the girl what she wanted. (Mysterion wasn't exactly busy at the time, anyway. The call of duty kind of died out with that Cthulhu shitstorm.) I thought I hung up the costume for good, but seeing her upset like this?

I knew what I had to do.

"As for your Guardian Angel… I-If he's as good as you said he is, I...think he'll know when you need him. No matter what."

I didn't exactly get a _smile_ , but she stopped crying, and the quiver in her voice was gone, so it was good enough for me. "You think he'll ever come back?"

"I know he will. Come on, kid, let's tuck you back in, huh?"

* * *

Later that week, Ruby had Karen over for a sleepover. After I dropped her off at the Tucker's place, I decided to take a walk. With all the crazy bullshit goin' on, I needed to take time to clear my head a bit. I even had a cigarette. Yeah, I know they're bad for you, and they would fuck up my voice right before the show, but come on, I'm already laying off weed - a man has to have _some_ vices.

I ended up staying out until dark, right when the night-walkers started stepping out. I half-considered staying out-another hour or two, and the streets would be _crawling_ with South Park's finest big-tittied whores-but decided against it. I wasn't in the mood to drop dead from syphilis and the clap, not after what happened with fuckin' Tammy Warner. Then again, no one ever got an STD from just looking…

 _Oof!_ In my moment of… let's say 'distraction', I bumped into someone-a pretty little blonde girl I didn't recognize right away, with a blue jacket tossed over her modest summer dress. "Oh, sorry, I didn't see ya there."

She was quick to hide her face. "Oh, hamburgers," she cursed. She was even quicker to try and take off running. "N-No, that was my fault! S-Sorry 'bout that, I gotta go!"

I almost brushed it off, but then something hit me- _did that girl just use hamburgers as a fuckin' curse word?_ I ground my cigarette butt under my shoe, then took off after her. "H-Hey, wait a minute! Hey, I know this might be fuckin' weird, but do you know-"

Then I turned her around and got a perfectly-clear view of her face… or should I say, _his_ face.

"Butters? Is that you?"


	11. Butters- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux! :)   
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**XI. Butters- Winter**

_**In which Butters realizes he might not be so alone after all** _

 

I got grounded for the whole Christmas break.

They said I shoulda known better than to let myself be kicked around... That and 'cause now I gotta make up all the work I missed 'cause of how long I was in a coma.

I wished I had woken up sooner. I haven't left the house since I got home from the hospital. Heck, I can't even leave my room unless I'm goin' to the bathroom. Then as soon as I'm not grounded anymore, I have to start preppin' for midterms.

Still, not like anyone's missin' me or nothin'. I'm sure the fellas are off havin' some kinda big Christmas adventure like they do every year. I hate bein' alone, but I'm kinda used to it by now. Still, would be nice if I could at least be alone outside.

One night right after Christmas, Mom and Dad decided to go out to some fancy restaurant up in Denver. They locked all the doors to make sure I couldn't get out… but they _technically_ didn't say anythin' 'bout the windows. Fifteen minutes after they left, I pulled out my makeup kit and wig. If I was gonna sneak out, I figured I may as well look good doin' it. I headed out of my room-thank goodness they only locked the doors headin' outside and not all the doors-and then up into the attic, where my mom keeps all of her old clothes. I found this really pretty green summer dress that had all sorts of pink flowers at the bottom, and a cute little blue coat to throw over it. (It was winter, after all. I didn't wanna catch cold or nothin'.)

My night on the town was goin' real swell! ...Up until I accidentally bumped into Kenny. Hamburgers.

"Butters? Is that you?"

"Oh… h-hiya, Kenny!" I tried to laugh, but it just sounded real scared and nervous. I mean, Kenny's a good fella, but he probably thinks I'm a big ol' wussy now that he's seen me.

He just looked at me for an awful long time, like he didn't know what to say 'bout seein' me look… y'know, the way I always wanna look. I started squirmin' and shut my eyes, waitin' for him to say _somethin'_ , but he never did. Finally, I blurted out, "Oh, geez, Kenny, please don't tell my mom 'n dad 'bout this, or else I'll be grounded fer sure! I-I can't help it! I-It's just that sometimes I don't feel comfortable, a-and I feel better when I put all this on, a-and-"

"Whoa, Butters, chill!" Kenny chuckled.

"Huh?"

He came 'round and put his hands on my shoulder. I didn't even notice how bad I was shakin' 'til he did it. And he was smilin' at me. Kenny's got a nice smile 'n all, don't get me wrong; I just couldn't figure out _why_ , and it was makin' me even MORE nervous.

"First off, I ain't tellin' your parents shit, so relax. I _am_ , however, a curious boy. So if you want me off your back tonight, you're gonna have to tell me more of the story behind... _this,_ " he said, makin' all kinds of dirty gestures towards my hair and my dress.

I looked at my phone. It was only seven-thirty.

"...Alright, I'll tell ya the story. But just ta be safe, let's do it back at my room. I'm technically still grounded."

* * *

I told Kenny everything, every last detail I could think of. I kept expectin' him to jump in and say somethin', but he never did. He just kept lookin' at me, like I was tellin' him some kinda amazin' fairy tale… 'cept I wasn't. I was just tellin' him about me. The _real_ me.

When I finished talkin', I started rubbin' my hands together 'n squeezin' 'em tight, waitin' for Kenny to say _somethin'._

"You shouldn't let your parents control who you are."

"Wh-whaddya mean?"

"Dude, your parents treat you like shit. And I can't fuckin' stand it when they do. I mean, the way he got up in your face and threatened to ground you back at the hospital? For fuck's sake, he literally grounded you for being in a coma."

He shuffled over to sit crisscross-applesauce, then propped up his arms and put his head on his hands and looked back over at me. "Look. If you ever find yourself in some shit with your parents over this, like if they find out or something, you call me, okay? I'll come help you out."

Gee whiz, I sure wasn't expectin' Kenny, of all people, to take it this well. I was real thankful for the offer, but I also felt kinda bad about it. "Oh geez, Kenny, don't you have yer own sister 'n family 'n all that to take care of? I-I mean, that's awful sweet of ya, and I sure appreciate it, but I don't wanna ask too much of ya. I-I know yer family ain't exactly..." I didn't wanna be rude 'n finish that thought, but I think Kenny knew what I was gettin' at. "No offense."

"None taken." He must be used to it by now; he just laughed it off. He also grabbed one of my hands. I never really noticed 'til now, but Kenny's fingers were awful rough and dry. They were still nice 'n warm, though. I didn't realize how cold my hands were 'til right then 'n there. It was like Kenny turned into my own little hand-warmin' fireplace.

"Butters, you're my friend. I wanna be there and help look out for you. I… kind of feel bad for not being able to stop that maniac from beatin' up on you sooner. And I want to make sure you don't get hurt like that again. So whatever you need or whenever you need to talk, I'm here. Besides," he added with that big, ol' smile of his, the one I always see him pointin' at the girls, "you don't look half-bad in that get-up."

As he ruffled my wig, my stomach did a few backflips, and my face felt awful warm. I even giggled a little, that's how dang giddy I was. That was the first time anyone ever said I looked pretty, and that feelin' felt real good. So I jumped in and gave him a big bear hug, the biggest bear hug I've ever given anyone.

"Aw, gee, thanks Kenny!"

Suddenly I heard the door open and close downstairs.

"Butters! We're home!"

"Oh, hamburgers, what're they doin' home so soon?!" I didn't have time to say goodbye to Kenny; I think he snuck out the window while I wasn't lookin'. I stripped down real quick and threw on my PJs and hid my clothes and wig and makeup kit back in the closet, then buried myself under the blankets and pretended to be asleep.

About an hour after Mom came upstairs to check on me, I washed off all my makeup and started putting everything back. I made sure the dress was folded nice and everything was in the right order, just like how I found it. When I got back to my room, I saw the notification light on my phone blinkin': it was a message from Kenny.

_Sry had 2 go so fast. Ur secret is safe w/ me._

My face flushed like a giddy lil' schoolgirl lookin' at a One Direction poster, I was so happy. Now I had Kenny on my side, 'n he was gonna keep me safe _and_ keep my secret safe.

I guess this is how it feels to have a real good friend.


	12. Wendy- Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and TEP Redux! :)  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**XII. Wendy- Winter**

_**In which Wendy senses something akin to change.** _

 

It was the last weekend of winter break before we had to return to school. Stan and Kyle were hanging out, and Bebe was meeting with Kenny to practice lines for the play again. How Kenny McCormick got involved in musical theatre is something I'm not sure I want to know. But anyway, it seemed everyone else was busy doing their own thing… or were at least doing all of their winter break reading at the last minute, like I know most of the class was.

After taking a walk around town, I stopped by Stark's Pond and saw that it had frozen over again. It might even be safe to go out on it again; with all of the craziness that's been happening recently, I could really use an afternoon of ice-skating to clear my head.

Let me explain.

I was walking over to Cartman's so that we could work on debate stuff for this month and get it out of the way. I arrived just in time to see him take off running for the woods like his feet were on fire. I thought I was seeing things, until I saw a guy in a Bane getup with a ski mask. The same psycho who attacked Butters.

I tried to run after them, but they had a big head start on me. I almost lost them in the woods, but then I heard the two gunshots coming from Stark's Pond. It wasn't until later that I noticed all of the signs and the big painting across the ice. Stan went through all of that effort to make a surprise picnic for me, and then that _asshole_ had to go and ruin it. I wanted to go after him, but then I saw Cartman starting to sink down, and blood was starting to stain the water...

I may hate his guts, but I still have principles.

So I threw off my shoes and my jacket and dove in after him. I grabbed him and threw him over my shoulder and heaved him back up onto solid ground so I could start CPR. It was _freezing_ cold when the wind picked up. I wanted to put on my jacket, but then I saw how badly Cartman's leg was bleeding...so I grabbed the jacket and tied the sleeves around the bullet wound. Not the best tourniquet, but it was what I could manage at the moment. Then I started compressions while Stan took over trying to stop the bleeding and Kyle went to go meet the paramedics.

Cartman got rushed into surgery to get the shrapnel removed from his leg. I ended up having to stay the night, too, which was stupid. I didn't end up getting hypothermia, but of course they "just wanted to be sure." Still, at least Stan was nice enough to bring me that cake and that mix-tape. It was just a little awkward trying to sit with them. I was kind of worried about Cartman. But no way I could ever admit that to _them_ ; at the time, I could hardly admit it to myself. I peeked into his room on my way out the next day. He was awake, which was good to see, but he was also sobbing like a little kid in his mom's arms. I tried to say, "Ah, probably just from the cold or the surgery or something" and not think about it, but… it's still kind of been on my mind.

So that brings us here. I decided to take a walk, try to take some time for myself and clear my head. After all of the craziness, I just wanted a nice, peaceful walk.

...Instead, I found Cartman sitting on a bench by the pond, crying

Eric Cartman, South Park's biggest and most sadistic sociopath, was _crying_ , still clinging to the same urn he refused to let go of when he almost drowned. If it were anybody else, I would have gone over and tried to help. But it wasn't. It was _Cartman._ I wasn't really sure WHAT to do; the best I could come up with was hiding behind a tree for a few minutes and see what was going on.

I heard a small _mew_ come from Cartman's direction. "Ay! Shut up, yah stupid kittin!" Was that...a cat? I poked my head out a little bit to get a better look. It was! Cartman was looking down at a little black-and-white tabby cat, no bigger than the palms of my hands, who was trying to climb up his jacket. And even though he was yelling, Cartman wasn't… doing anything about it. I was half-expecting him to wail on the poor thing, but he was just letting it be.

"Whaddya want, ho?" Unfortunately, I must have poked out a little too far. Wasn't thinking about his peripheral vision, I guess.

I nervously gulped before stepping out to approach him. He wouldn't even look at me. He was totally absorbed on the urn.

"Well?"

"...Well, what?"

"The fuck are you stalking me for?"

"I wasn't stalking you. I was taking a walk, and I heard you crying."

The awkward pause that followed was one of the most drawn-out I've ever had to suffer through. Usually Cartman would have thousands of insults prepared to fly off his tongue, but he was quiet. He _still_ wouldn't even look at me.

"If yer gonna tell 'em, go ahead."

On any other day, I'd lash out at him. I'd be on the defensive, ready to make sure I still got the last word at the end. But… I couldn't. There was no fight in him. Hell, he couldn't even come up with some really sexist name to call me.

I sat down next to him. Stupid, I know, but… I had to get to the bottom of this. "Tell who what?"

"I dunno. Stan, Kahl, Kinny. Fuck it, go put it in the school paper fer all I care. 'Breaking news, Eric Cartman is a big fuckin' pussy who cries over a fuckin' dead cat!' 'C-Cause who the fuck cries over some dead, stupid animal, right? Especially some dead, stupid cat..."

He went quiet again, but I could hear him sniffling and choking up under his breath. He was still dodging my eyes, but this time it was more defensive, like he didn't _want_ me to look at him. He was crying, and burying that urn in his chest like his life depended on never letting it go.

I never thought I'd see the day. Eric _fucking_ Cartman. The same person who shot Token Black in the fourth grade. Who's been on a hate-crime frenzy to murder one of his best friends just because he's Jewish. Who had a kid's parents killed and ground into chili meat. THAT Eric Cartman… was mourning a life. Okay, sure, it was a cat, but pets aren't just "stupid animals." They're friends, the kind that will always be there for you, no matter what you do. Or... _who_ you are, in this case, I guess.

Urgh. Damn this second x-chromosome and its motherly instincts.

I put an arm around Cartman's shoulders and stroked his back. He needed someone right then-and judging by what he just said, it wasn't about to be any of the boys. He didn't even try to throw me off. In fact, it was the opposite. He moved to bury his face in my shoulder, and I heard and felt his crying get even louder. I didn't try to push him off, either. (Though trust me, I thought about it.) I wanted to know more. I wanted to understand him more. Is that a normal thing that happens when you see your worst enemy break down in front of you?

_Mew._

We both looked down to see the little tabby cat, still trying to climb its way into Cartman's lap. "Mahm got me this stupid kittin," he explained, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Dunno what she was thinkin'. Like I'm gonna ferget 'bout Mr. Kitty just 'cause there's this new kitty 'round bein' cute."

Despite his grumbling, he lightly scratched behind the kitten's ear.

"I was kinda pissed off that you saved me at first, y'know. For a sec there, I kinda wanted to go down like Mr. Kitty did. Least we'd be together at the bottom of the pond. Kinda like he wouldn't really be gone, y'know?" He paused to glance over at a handgun sitting on the other side of him.

"I brought this damn cat out here to shoot it, but I fuckin' can't! God, I'm bein' such a goddamn pussy, can't even kill a goddamn pussy!"

"Your mom was probably just trying to help. I don't think she meant to hurt your feelings. ...If it makes you feel better, I was pretty torn up when my grandma's cat died. My grandma took it so hard that she died a few weeks later. Crying over Mr. Kitty doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you're human."

Cartman harrumphed and went back to cradling his urn and not looking at me. I glanced at him, and the urn, then over to the handgun. And then I got an idea.

I grabbed the gun and then ran over to the pond. "Ay! The hell're you doin' with that?!"

"You said you wished you and Mr. Kitty could sit at the bottom of the lake together, right?" I looked for the thinnest spot in the ice, right where that "Bane" character broke it the first time. Then, while Cartman was getting up to join me, I took aim and fired. _Bang! Bang!_ Just like before, the ice shattered, exposing that same cracked, jagged hole as last time… thankfully with a little less blood this time. When Cartman finally caught up, I motioned to the broken ice.

"Look. I can't make everything better, and after last time, you're DEFINITELY not going back in there. But maybe if you let Mr. Kitty go..."

It took him a few moments. Eventually, though, he walked out on the ice and wrestled the lid off of the urn.

"Make sure you wait up fer me, got it, you stupid cat?" he said, I think to the ashes. Then with one last deep breath, he flipped the urn and dumped all of the ashes into the pond.

"...Bye, Mr. Kitty."

We stood side-by-side and watched as the ashes eventually settled and started sinking. No fighting, no insults, just quietly standing and watching.

I turned to ask Cartman if he felt better, but he beat me to the punch. Before I knew what was happening, he leaned in and grabbed me in...a hug? An actual, honest-to-goodness hug? Cartman, showing signs of being an actual human being?! I was in shock, I had no idea what to do! ...So I did the only thing I could think of: I hugged him back.

After a few minutes, we pulled apart so Cartman could wipe his eyes one last time.

"You tell anyone 'bout this, and yer dead, ho, you got it?"

He turned to walk away, but I reached out and stopped him. "Hey, wait."

"What?"

"...Do you remember that substitute teacher we had in third grade? The one who turned out to be a terrorist and got fired into the sun?"

"Who, Ms. Ellen? Yeah, but so what?"

I took a slow nervous breath before admitting, "She wasn't a terrorist. I was jealous that Stan had a crush on her, so I taught myself Arabic and hired some Iraqis to pose as terrorists and frame her." I glimpsed at Cartman; he wasn't saying anything, but there was a weird look in his eyes that I couldn't place. "B-But I warned her! She's an adult, and we were only kids! A-And what else was I supposed to do, she was threatening my relationship! I have a right to protect my boyfriend, don't I? And I regret it now, I just… I didn't back then, just because I was too busy being so damn proud that I pulled it off! Even today, the only people who know about it are Bebe and Kyle… and now you, I guess."

I cringed a little, not sure what kind of response I was going to get. I definitely didn't expect the one I got, though: he started _laughing._ "Wow, Testaburger, you're just _full_ of shit, aren't ya?"

"What?!"

"You heard me! Preachin' liberal hippie bullshit all day, talkin' 'bout world peace 'n equal rights, blah-blah-blah, callin' ME a psychopath for makin' sure people get what they deserve… and look at you! Sendin' bitches to the sun for bein' catty! God, Windy, I knew you were some kinds'a fucked up, but yer a fuckin' _hypocrite_ on top'a it!"

"I am not! You're the hypocrite here, not me!"

"Like HELL I am! Unlike you fuckin' hippies, I own my shit! Yer the one actin' like the nice girl all the time, and then you pull shit like this!"

"It was _one time-!_ "

"One time, mah balls!" He laughed and sneered so hard, it made me want to punch all of his teeth out. "Yer no better than I am. Hell, I might even say we kinda think alike."

"Oh, fuck off, Cartman!" He's lucky I'm feeling sympathetic, or at least was thirty seconds ago. If we didn't just have a moment, his nose would be in pieces. My fists were ready, but I held back. I'm not like him. I'm not about to stoop to his level.

Now it was my turn to walk off, but Cartman stopped me.

"Ay, hold on a sec."

"What?"

"What'd you tell me all that fer?"

"Because _unlike you_ , who cheats at every chance you get, I believe in an even playing field, remember? It's insurance for both of us. You tell _anyone_ about this Ms. Ellen thing, and I'll tell the _entire student body_ about you crying like a baby over a fuckin' cat."

He thought for a moment, then just nodded before heading off. "Alright, fair enough. Good play, Testabitch. Guess I'm rubbin' off on you more than I thought."

"Seriously, Cartman, fuck off."

"Fine, fine." Before he walked too far, though, he turned around one last time. "...Thanks," was all he said, eyes down while he said it, before grabbing his gun and his kitten and heading home.

* * *

I stayed back for a while, at least until he was out of sight. I never let Cartman's insults get to me, but saying I'm full of shit? That I'm a hypocrite? That I'm _no better than him_?!

...I wasn't sure which part was worse: the fact that Cartman said it, or the fact that I had already noticed it before.


	13. Kyle- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas, Lady Mayflower and Anonymous Void. 
> 
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
> 
>  
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains descriptive violent content.

 

**XIII. Kyle- Spring**

_**In which Kyle isn’t so sure what he wants.** _

          I'm more than halfway done with freshman year now. And it’s been almost four months since anyone’s heard from “Bane”, so we’re all hoping he’s just disappeared. Y’know, and isn’t planning something crazy and taking the time to make sure he doesn’t screw it up again. Even though things have been quiet, I can’t stop thinking about it. Who IS this guy? What kind of beef did he have with us? First the note, then Butters, then Cartman… he was a mission of some kind.

          "Guys, I’ve been thinking--”

            “About moving to Israel with the rest of your Jew-rat people?” Stan gave Cartman a hard elbowing, shutting him up long enough that I could finish my sentence.

            “No, Cartman. I was _thinking_ about that Bane guy. You think it’s someone we know? I feel like he’s after us for some kind of revenge or something.”

          "Congrats Kahl, I now pronounce you Captain Obvious."

          "Cartman! I'm serious here! I think it's worth figuring out who the hell he is so we can stop him before he comes after me and Stan!”

            Stan put a hand on my shoulder and I jumped a little bit. I still don’t really know why; I shouldn’t have been startled by something little like that. “Dude, it’s been months. And let’s be honest, if he couldn’t kill a pansy like Butters and a fat-ass like Cartman, he doesn’t stand a chance against us.”

            “Ay! What’s that supposed to mean?!”

            “Shut up, Cartman. Look, I’m just saying he’s probably given up or gotten bored by now or something. Relax.”

            As if. “I know I should, but what if the wait’s just because he wants to be ready? Or have some kind of back-up plan if something screws up so that he doesn’t miss this time?” I dropped onto the table and buried my head in my arms, suddenly wondering how far I could pull my ushanka over my face. “The sooner we figure out who that son of a bitch is, the sooner we can put this shit behind us and I can just focus on fucking surviving freshman year.”

            There was a really long, painful silence.

            “In other news,” Kenny spoke up, “the show’s this weekend. You guys are coming, right?”

            “Yeah, sure,” I grumbled from behind my coat sleeves.

            “Ditto,” Stan chimed in.

            “Can’t.” All three of us gave Cartman a look. As soon as we heard Kenny was doing the musical, Cartman went on and on for ages about how he was going to film the whole thing and make a viral video out of someone screwing up and humiliating themselves.

            “The hell plans do you have, fat-ass?” Kenny asked.

            “Debate tournament in Denver. It’s the qualifier for Regionals, so Wendy and I gotta go kick a whole bunch of ass. We’re, like, the best debaters in the whole state, so it’s gonna be a real slaughterfest.”

            Okay, scratch the psycho killer. I just became way more concerned about Cartman. “Cartman, are you okay?”

            He seemed it. At least the weird attitude wasn’t stopping him from shoveling food into his mouth like normal. “Yeah, you have a problem, Jew?”

            “Yeah. You just said something nice about Wendy Testaburger.”

            “I did not!”

            “Uh, yeah you did, dude,” Stan echoed. Kenny nodded to back us up.

            Cartman chewed on his last bite of lunch for a _long_ time. He’s always the first to jump on a snappy comeback, even if he has to spit food at you while he’s saying it. And at the end, we didn’t even get one; he just got up with his tray, grumbled a quick “ah, screw you guys” and left the table.

            Cartman just failed to come up with a comeback.

            Now we _know_ something’s wrong with him.

 

* * *

 

          "Dad! I’m not even done with freshman year yet! Why do I need to know where I'm going to college _now_?"

          "Kyle, we're not making you choose, we just want you to at least make a list of options so you know what to look into."

            “Look, all I know is that I want to go somewhere out of state.”

            I thought that’d be enough to get him off of my back, but instead he just pulled out a notebook and started writing. “See, that’s a start! Now we can start narrowing it down by eliminating schools in Colorado.”

            I groaned and rubbed my temples. Oh boy, trapped in _another_ discussion about college. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. Fuck, most of us have. Hell, Stan told me that Wendy has the entire next four years all charted out to get into college. But thinking about it just feels like this massive weight on my brain. It’s like there’s this timer ticking down, constantly trying to warn me that I’m going to be an adult before I know it. Thinking about it all kind of makes me want to hit myself in the head with a hammer. I guess that’s why I like keeping busy with shit like basketball and Jew Scouts; it’s less thinking I have to do.

            “KYLE! STAN’S HERE!”

            _Phew, saved by the super-best-friend rescue._ “Sorry Dad, maybe we can finish this later, got to go!” I rushed out of the room as quickly as I could and ran downstairs to meet Stan. Thank Abraham he decided to come over for some food before Kenny’s show tonight.

            Dinner was surprisingly quiet, save for Stan’s usual awkward and confused face while we do Shabbat blessings. Everyone kept busy with small talk, all the way up until Mom and Dad were gathering plates and starting to clean up. For a second, I really thought I had gotten away from all the college talk—

            “You’re staying here this weekend, right, Stan?”

            “Yeah, if that’s alright. My parents are up in Ohio with Shelly this weekend looking at colleges.”

            _Damn it._

            “Oh, really?” Mom dropped all of her plates right away to lean in and start talking schools. “Where’s she lookin’ all the way out there?”

            Stan glanced over my way and I poured all of my energy into trying to send some sort of super-best-friend telepathic message. Please Stan, whatever you do, do NOT start listing schools right now. Change the subject, lie, _anything_!

            But either Stan didn’t get the message or he cracked under the pressure of my mom staring him down. “They’re visiting Ohio Wesleyan right now,” he told her, “but she’s mostly looking at places in-state. Y’know, Boulder, Colorado State, Denver U, those kind of places.”

            “Oh, that’s wonderful, Stan. I’m sure they’re all very nice schools.” I braced for impact; I could’ve lip-synced the next question, that’s how clearly I saw it coming. “Are _you_ looking at any of those schools?”

            “Yeah, what are you thinking about doing after high school, Stan?” Dad jumped in. “You and Kyle could start looking at colleges together. I know he could use some help cutting down the list.”

            “Oh, would you look at the time?” I interrupted. I grabbed Stan by the arm and ran for the door as quick as I could without tripping over any chairs. “Thanks for the dinner, Mom, but Stan and I are gonna be late, so we should probably get going, okay, see you later, love you, bye!”

            “Now wait just a second, Kyle--!”

            We were out of the house with the door shut behind us before she could finish that sentence.

 

* * *

 

           

            “Dude, that show was so fucked up!”

            “I know, right?! Seriously, I lost count of how many times they fuckin’ sang about oral. I’m never looking at a musical the same way again.”

            “I fuckin’ told you, dude!!”

            Great. Not only was Stan’s musical-blow-job conspiracy true after all, but now everyone’s childhood was ruined. (I mean, not that ours weren’t ruined to begin with, but still.) At least people enjoyed it; disgusting songs aside, Kenny did really well. ...Almost _too_ well, actually…those parts suited him to the point that it was actually a little fuckin’ weird.

            I was about to ask Stan why he didn’t bring Wendy, but then I remembered that she and Cartman are at that debate match in Denver. I keep forgetting they’re debate partners for some reason… but it can’t just be me that forgets it.

            The conversation got quiet as we walked all the way back to my house. I thought it was that usual silence that settles in between us sometimes, but then out of nowhere, Stan asked, “Kyle, is this college shit stressing you out?”

            I froze up when he asked. We tell each other everything, and I appreciate Stan always being there for me… but for some reason, I wasn’t comfortable talking about college, not even to him. Maybe I just don’t want to admit that my plan to get the fuck out of South Park doesn’t have an end game yet. And what good would it even do to dump _my_ baggage on everyone? All of my friends have their own messed-up crap to deal with. Butters has to deal with his parents, Kenny’s got his family drama, Stan’s anxious about Wendy and his parents getting divorced again, Cartman’s… being Cartman. I’m just stuck with my head feeling like it’s about to explode from all the work I’ve been doing, just so I can say I still don’t know what it’s all for. Why is it so hard? And why does it even matter? Well, I mean, of course it matters; if I ever want to leave South Park, I have to have some kind of plan, but…

            “...I don’t fucking know what I want to do.”

          “Huh?”

            I tried avoiding his gaze by looking down at the pavement where the snow had basically melted into slush.

            “Look Stan, at this point I just wanna get the fuck out of this town. Ever since that one day eight or so years ago when the whole town was going crazy over Iraq, I decided that no matter what, I wasn’t going to go bust my ass in college just to end up back here. Hell, my ideal plan would be to go to school outside of Colorado altogether. But it just feels like my parents expect me to have every fucking detail of my future planned out already when I don’t even know what I’m having for lunch tomorrow! Why can’t it be enough to say I just want to leave?!” I felt my face get tight, and it felt like my brain was literally about to boil. “Sorry. I know you’re not really thinking about it ‘cause you’re just gonna go play college football or something, but--”

            I jumped at the feeling of Stan’s hand on my shoulder. He’s always been the one that can put up with me, even when I’m pissed off and ranting.

            “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t really want to play college ball,” he said quietly.

            “What?” I said facing him.

            “I don’t want to do it, okay?!” he said again. “I only play now ‘cause it’s fun and my parents really want me to. I’m not about to go pro or anything. If I’m gonna go to college, I’d rather go and work with animals or something.”

            “...Then why do you let everyone assume you’re going to play football?”

            He sighed. His eyes got a little glassy, so I put my arm around him the same way he had one around me. “You remember the last time my parents got divorced?” he asked.

            “And how they ended up getting back together again just because they thought it would be better for me and Shelly?”

            “Yeah.”

            “I just… don’t want to go through that again, you know? I know, it probably sounds retarded, but… it just feels like if I play football and all that and act like the golden boy all the time, then they’ll figure it out and stay together. Y’know, then it won’t be MY fault if the family falls apart again.”

            Of course I remembered that time; I’ll never let myself forget it. Even now, just thinking about it puts a knot in my stomach. Okay, sure, Stan was being kind of an asshole at the time, but I just didn’t realize how bad things had gotten for him. And what did I do? Run off with Cartman and leave him alone to go deal with it. Ever since, I promised to myself I’d never do that to Stan again. I was going to be a better friend for him, especially in times like those. After all we’ve been through together, it’s the least I can do.

            “You shouldn’t worry about stuff like that, Stan,” I told him. “Even if something does happen, it won’t be because you’re not playing football in college. Hell, we’ve avoided way worse for doing way screwier shit over the years. Your football career should be the _last_ thing on that list.”

 

            Stan chuckled a bit as he wiped his face on his sleeve. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Like that time we entered Ike in a kid pageant just so Michael Jackson’s ghost would stop possessing him?”

            “Yeah. Oh, or the time we stole all those baby cows to get people to not eat veal?”

            “Oh, that was nothing. What about the time we tried covering up the fact that Kenny nearly took out Butters’ eye with a shuriken?”

            “Or that time we started the angry mob and nearly got that cigarette factory burnt down just so we wouldn’t get grounded for smoking?”

            “Still not NEARLY as bad as that time we framed that Trent kid and got him sent to juvie hall, like, twice.”

            And that’s when the wheels began to turn.  

            The terrible spelling in the first threat.

            The threats against Cartman, Kenny, Butters, Stan, and me.

            The fact that ‘Bane’ HAD to be someone we know.

            And that it had been _five fucking years…_

            I stopped dead in my tracks and held out an arm to stop Stan alongside me. “Stan, that’s it.”

            “What’s it?”

            “Think about it, Stan. The death threats, the hospitalizations… When was the last time someone pulled this shit on us?”

            “...Kyle, you’re not _actually_ saying that--”

            “It’s been five years, Stan. There’s no other explanation. Trent Boyett’s out of juvie.”

            Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled some curses under his breath. “Okay, so Trent Boyett’s back to kill us. What the fuck do we do about it?”

            “What do you think? We go tell Kenny and Cartman and Butters and then go to the police! If they know it was him behind those attacks, he’ll be thrown back in juvie for sure!”

            “Yeah, but they won’t believe us! What proof do we have? We got lucky last time with that ‘yes, yes’ double-beep bullshit; we won’t get lucky like that again.”

            “Well, then what do _you_ think we should do?”

            Stan rubbed his eyes as he let go of his nose, then looked over at me. “We’ve just got to go get him before he comes and gets us.”

            “What?! Stan, are you high or something?!”

            “No, I just think it’s our best shot! You really want to keep doing this over and over again every five years?” Either I didn’t have a good answer or I couldn’t find one fast enough. “Look, we’ll wait until your parents are asleep, then we’ll sneak out and go over to the old Boyett house. Even if we can’t get him, maybe we can at least get proof that he’s the one trying to kill us all.”

            “And if he strangles us the second we walk in the door?”

            “I know where my dad keeps the emergency rifle. We can stop by my house and get it before we go. That way, at least we can claim self-defense.”

      

* * *

 

            “If my mom hears about this, I’m a dead man walking.”

            “Let’s just hope if your mom hears about this, it’s not because you’re _actually_ dead.”

            Right before we headed inside, Stan handed me a handgun. “Don’t worry, it’s got bullets, I checked,” he said. He kept his dad’s rifle for himself.

            The old Boyett house hadn’t been touched in five years. The old South Park Real Estate FOR SALE sign still sat in front of it, though you could barely make out the ad asking people to “call Martha Testaburger and move in today!” It was basically abandoned after last time; and given how rarely new people move into town, no one had lived in it since. It was the only place in town he could be staying, especially if he was able to follow us so closely for the past few months.

            ...Which was _really_ creepy when I stopped to think about it.

            Stan headed up the porch steps in front of me. Right before he opened the door, though, I grabbed him by the back of his shirt. “Stan, wait.”

            “What?”

            “Shouldn’t we tell the other guys about this? Y’know, maybe not _this_ , specifically, but… about Trent?”

            Without another word, Stan pulled out his phone and sent a quick text message. I’m guessing he sent word to the guys. ...At least, that’s what I _hope_ he did.

            He looked back at me and gave me a nod; I gave him one back. Time to go.

            Stan kicked in the door and we snuck inside, standing back-to-back as we glanced around the dark house.

            “See anything, Ky?”

            “No, not yet.”

            Things seemed quiet, so we split up, just for a few seconds. He went ahead to the rest of the house, while I kept looking around the living room. Even now, it didn’t look like anyone had been here in years. ...Maybe I was just being paranoid. Maybe it wasn’t--

            _Trent!!_ Just as I turned around, I ran right into a brute in a Bane mask. I tried to shout out to Stan, but he grabbed me before I could get the words out. He pulled me in, and I felt a sharp prick on my neck, like getting stabbed with a really sharp thorn.

            And then he let me go. And I fell down. Not a fast fall, more like a slow… kind of sleepy stumbling to the floor… right before it all went…

            ... _black._

 

* * *

 

            I was halfway through tearing off my jacket and ushanka when I finally came to. Fuck, why was it so _hot_? I was dripping with sweat to the point it started stinging my eyes when I went to rub the blur out of them. Once I could see straight, I tried looking around. The room was dark, and everything was metal: the air vent on the ceiling, the walls, even the floor. But even though it looked like it should’ve been cool, the air was boiling hot, almost even smoky. It reminded me of when we visited our relatives in Israel last summer; every time you touched the _ground_ , it felt like your fingers were on fire.

            “Kyle?” I looked over to see Stan, not looking much more awake than I was. He had thrown off his hat and jacket, too.

            “Stan?” I was too woozy to get up, so I crawled over to him instead. “What the hell happened?”

            “I dunno, man… I came over and saw you passed out on the floor, and then everything kind of went black, and now we’re in this fuckin’ furnace.” As soon as he said ‘furnace,’ Stan put up his arm and went into a coughing fit. The air wasn’t necessarily black with smoke or anything, but you could definitely smell that something had just finished burning.

            I glanced around the empty, metal room again. Furnace? More like a damn _boiler room._

            “Stan, grab your inhaler.”

            He gave me the ‘good call’ nod then started digging through his pocket once the coughing fit settled down. Then his eyes went wide as he went for his other pocket, and then grabbed for his coat.

            “It’s gone.”

            “Stan, don’t fuck with me right now.”

            “I’m not!” Once he gave up the search, he pointed a finger at me. “Check your pump.

            I lifted up my shirt and my heart sank. Just like Stan’s inhaler, my insulin pump was gone. Someone had taken it. ...Well, not _someone_ , but—

            “Well, well, speak of the devil! If it isn’t my old friends Stan and Kyle!”

            Trent Boyett stepped into the room. It only had one door, a big metal one with a lock like a cartoon bank vault. He finally took the mask off, giving us a chance to get a good look at him. I could hardly believe it, but the extra five years in juvie actually made him _more_ threatening. He still had his tattoos, inked in darker and thicker than ever: “Never Forget” and “Vengeance is Mine, sayeth the Lord”. One of his front teeth was gold-plated now, and most intimidating of all, he had bulked up like a fuckin’ body builder.

            Stan and I immediately grabbed hands. This was it, end of the line, good-bye world.

            He had a sick sneer on his face as he walked up to us. “Ah, quit yer snivelin’, ya gaywads. I’m not killin’ you two just yet.”

            Stan and I glanced at each other. That was either really good or _really_ bad. “Huh?” we both asked, looking back at him.

            Trent kicked at the metal floor. “You like my new oven? I got some old inmate buddies of mine to install it last month. After your other friends wouldn’t fuckin’ die, I knew I couldn’t just up and try to kill you two in public. So I called in some favors, and now I’ve got the perfect plan.”

            (I couldn’t tell which one of us was squeezing harder, but Stan and I were definitely cutting off circulation in the other’s fingers.)

            “So here’s how it’s gonna go, boys!” he continued. “I’m gonna call up your other three faggy friends and let them know that they have the next eleven hours to show up at my door with a million dollars ransom money. If they don’t, I kill you both. But when they _do_ , each one of them is getting a neck full of tranquilizers, just like you two did. Then I get to sit back, relax, and enjoy watchin’ all five of you burn together! You know, the way you all should’ve burnt and went to hell with Ms. Claridge? So that I wouldn’t have had ten fucking years of my life taken away from me?!”

            I fell over as Trent jammed his boot into my side. “You!”

            Kick to the ribcage. “Fucking!”

            Kick to the stomach. “Pieces of shit!”

            Kick to the face.  

            I felt Stan’s arms wrap around me, like he thought I was gonna break or something. I tried to push him off and go give Boyett a piece of my goddamn mind, but he held me back.

            Trent chuckled as he started walking towards the door.

            “Our friends won’t fall for this!” Stan yelled after him. He was trying to sound confident, but I could hear the slither of panic in his tone.

            “Oh, is that so?” Trent turned back around, and I saw the glint of a steak knife in his hands, just before he brought it up and prepared to strike. Everything happened so fast, but I _knew_ that knife was coming for Stan!...

            So I did what any super best friend would do: I threw myself in the way.

            The knife carved its way down, straight between two of my ribs until I could feel it about to slice through my back. It felt a little bit like getting stung by a bee… if that bee was actually one of those giant Japanese hornets, and it happened to be on fire while it was stinging you. Trent probably could’ve kicked on the furnace and I wouldn’t have even noticed. I could feel the knife just throbbing pain all the way through my chest and my back. It was the most agonizing thing I’d ever felt!

            ...Until he pulled the knife back _out_. The one stabbing shock of pain suddenly turned into a million little pieces of glass that buried their way into my chest. I let out a shriek and then couldn’t get my breath back afterwards. Every time I tried to breathe, it was like getting stabbed all over again: on every inhale, the knife went back in, and on every exhale, it ripped back out and left all those little tearing shards behind again.

            “Now you better hope they show up, Marsh,” I heard Trent taunting.

            “Otherwise, you’ll be the only one here to watch poor Broflovski bleed out. And then they’ll get front row tickets to watch you _burn._ ” I couldn’t see him leaving, but I heard his footsteps trail out the door, along with that sick, twisted laugh.

            I tried reaching for the stab wound, but already my hands were starting to shake and go numb. Stan beat me to it, carefully helping me pull off my shirt and then using it to put pressure on the bleeding. My head fell backwards; I tried to sit up, but it felt like there was a weight around my neck pulling me down. Everything was spinning and my head was feeling light.

            This was it. I had spent my whole freshman year worrying about college, and now I wasn’t even going to live to see graduation.

            “Stan?”

            “Shh. Hold still, Kyle, you’re gonna be okay.”

            “Stan, am I gonna--?”

            “No. I’m right here for you, okay? I’m not going anywhere without you.” I couldn’t see him very well - my head was spinning out of control and every little twitch sent this blinding pain through my chest - but I could hear his voice start to crack under the pressure.

            “W-We were talkin’ about fucked-up stuff we did when we were kids. Do you remember that time we had to trick Cartman into giving you a kidney?”

            “Yeah...”

            “Yeah. Y-You remember what I said after you woke up from the surgery?”

            As if I’d ever forget. Even now, I still remembered it, clear as day. “That I can’t die until you die first?”

            “Exactly. And I’m not dead yet, so that means you have to be okay, okay? Just… keep listening to me and...”

            I did my best, but every breath just made it harder and harder to hear. At least the wound stopped hurting so much, though. In fact, towards the end I could hardly even feel it. I couldn’t feel _anything_ , really… I couldn’t see, either. Instead of everything all going black, though, it went white, brighter and brighter until it was all I could see…

            “ _Just stay with me. Please._ ”


	14. Cartman- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Lady Mayflower and Anonymous Void.   
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone. 
> 
> Also the address that is mentioned is made up, just so y'all know.

 

**XIV. Cartman- Spring**

_**In which Cartman makes another video.** _

 

            “I can’t fucking believe it! We had all of the evidence, all of the research, all of the reasoning, and we lost to the goddamn _Chewbacca defense_?!”

            “I told you, didn’t I? Soon as we sat down, I said, ‘Look out, Wendy, their team’s got some smart-ass, Johnny Cochran look-alike black kid, bet you anything he’s gonna whip out some bullshit argument and the judges are just gonna give it to ‘em ‘cause he’s black.’ And you said, ‘oh, shut up, Eric, that’s so racist!’, but that’s exactly what happened, wasn’t it?”

            “It’s bad enough we lost, Cartman. Don’t make me admit you were right on top of it.”

            She grumbled and started kicking at the concrete. And hell, I don’t blame her, I’m pissed off, too. This match was our last chance to qualify for Regionals, and we busted ass getting ready for this thing. We practiced every week, wrote up tons of arguments and then switched ‘em and tore the other’s apart until they were fuckin’ perfect, and what did all of that get us? A big ol’ middle finger from the judge, served with a side of affirmative action.

            “If it makes yah feel better, we had a pretty sweet-ass run this year.” I don’t know why I said it, but I did. Probably ‘cause the stupid debate made us miss lunch and I was fuckin’ starving.

            Still, it made her look a little better. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

            “You wanna come get KFC with me and mah mahm?”

            “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I think I’m going to meet up with Stan later. We haven’t had a date night in weeks thanks to debate getting in the way.”

            Of course. Her faggy boyfriend Stan.

            Look, I don’t give a fuckin’ shithole about Wendy’s love life. I just don’t _get it_ , that’s all. Wendy’s got a lot of balls for a chick, but Stan’s the biggest fuckin’ pussy on the planet. I just think she’d be better off with someone who isn’t scared of fuckin’ _talkin’_ to her.

            “Hey.” I looked over at her; she dropped the pouting and had this kind of half-smile on her face. “If we’re going to make it to Regionals next year, we’re going to have to plan ahead for stuff like the Chewbacca defense.”

            I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I think I like where she’s going with this. “Oh, we’re _going_ to Regionals next year. Guess that means you’ll be seein’ a lot more ‘a me this summer, ho.”

            She elbowed me in the side when I said that, but not the ‘go fuck off’ kind; more like the ‘god, you’re such a dick’ kind I do with the guys all the time. “Don’t flatter yourself, fat-ass.”

            We got to the corner where my mom was supposed to pick us up, but instead of her car, there was a cab pulling up. God-dammit, bitch must be working overtime again.

            “Cartman, quick, you gotta come with us!”

            That’s when Kenny and Butters of all people threw the door open. “Oh, what the fuck do you two want?”

            “I-I-It’s that Bane kid again, Eric!” Butters stammered out. “He-He’s got Stan and Kyle!!”

            “What?!” Wendy shouted.

            Kenny nodded as they scooted out of the way and waved for us to get in. So Wendy and I climbed in, I shut the door behind us, and the cabbie started speeding back towards South Park.

            “Kenny, what do you mean Bane has them?!” Wendy asked.

            “First off, his name’s not Bane. I got a text from Stan at, like, one in the morning last night. He and Kyle think it’s Trent Boyett.”

            _The fuck???_ I had to take a few seconds just to make sure I didn’t hear him wrong.

            “Trent Boyett? The fuck, Kinny, isn’t that ass rotting away in juvie?!”

            “That’s what I thought, too! But I checked the math; it’s been five years, they must’ve just let him out.”

            “Okay, back up!” Wendy shouted, waving her hands around.

            “First of all, what kinda beef does Trent have with you guys that would send him on a god-damn revenge spree? Second, apart from some random 1AM text, what proof do you guys even have?”

            Me, Kenny, and Butters all shared a look. (Wasn’t hard, considering how small Wendy is; hell, even Butters has a few inches on her.) “She’s heard too much, boys,” I said. “No use pussy-footin’ around it now.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Wendy, do you remember that thing ten years ago when Trent Boyett went to juvie for setting Ms. Claridge on fire?” I asked her.

            “And then five years ago when he got out and then went _back_ to juvie for doing it again?” Kenny added in.

            “Yeah...”

            “That was actually us. We’re the ones who asked Boyett to start lighting shit on fire, ‘cause we wanted ta play Firemen.”

            “The second time was _all_ Cartman, though. He’s the one that threw the taser.”

            “Ay, fuck you too, Kinny!”

            “Oh, please don’ tell on us, Wendy!” Butters begged. “They just didn’t wanna get in trouble for it, a-and I didn’t wanna get grounded fer not tellin’ anyone! Then last time Trent got out, he went all kinds ‘a crazy and tried ta kill us! A-And now he’s out again ‘n goin’ all kinds ‘a crazy and tryin’ ta kill us! Again!”

            Wendy took a _long_ fuckin’ pause. (Really, after dating Stan for as long as she has, she should just be used to our bullshit by now.) Then she rubbed her temples for a bit and sighed.

            “Alright, so how did you find out about Stan and Kyle?”

            Kenny pulled out his phone and played back the message for us:

            “ _In five hours, I’m going to kill one of your friends. If the three of you come down to see the show, I’ll be nice enough to let you_ choose _which one it is. Which half of South Park’s dynamic duo are we losing tonight, boys? Golden Boy Marsh or Jew-Brain Broflovski? You can try to save them both if you want, but it’ll cost ya… let’s set the starting ransom at a cool one million dollars, shall we? Or you could do things the easy way: call the cops, send someone else, or just don’t show up at all, and I’ll kill them both! I think Eric could use a new pair of urns to put up on the mantle next to Mr. Kitty’s._

 _66 Appalachian Drive. You have five hours. Romans 12:19, bitches._ ”

 

     

* * *

 

 

            “Alright, so here’s the plan. Kinny, I need all the bear mace ‘n ammo you c’n get yer hands on. Butters, I need a video camera, and a big bag stuffed with as much fake Monopoly money as you c’n find. Wendy, yer mahm’s got keys for all the unsold houses in South Park, right?”

            “Well, yeah, but--”

            “Get the keys to the Boyett house. Go get a double made if you don’t wanna get busted, I don’t give a shit. I want everyone back here with the goods in ONE HOUR, got it? Go!”

            The cab dropped us off at my place, and we were barely in the front door before I started handing out instructions. Kenny and Butters took off without a word; Wendy, dumb bitch that she was, hung back.

            “Hey, before I go steal from my own mother over this, can I ask what _exactly_ your plan is?” she asked.

            “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Testabitch, I got it under control. I got a crew for this shit.”

            “You have a crew?”

            “Yes, I have a crew, do you speak English?! We don’t have time to argue semitics!”

            “Se _man_ tics.” She followed me up the stairs as I tried to run into my room, then put her hand out and blocked my door. “Look, will you just stop and talk to me for a minute?”

            “I’ll give you thirty seconds.”

            “Just... ” There it was again, that weird kind-of-a-smile-but-not-really I saw on her face earlier. “Thanks for doing all this to rescue Stan and Kyle.”

            “I’d say ‘yer welcome’ and charge ya for it, Windy, but I ain’t doin’ it to save the Jew-rat and yer faggy boyfriend.” I shoved her away from the door and back towards the stairs.

            “The Dawg works in the name of Christ.”

            Yeah, I know everyone’s all worried about Stan and Kyle, whatever, fuck those guys. I got bigger fish to fry. Trent Boyett crossed a line, and I would make him rue the day he dared to cross Eric T. “The Dawg” Cartman.

            I had to do this for Mr. Kitty.

 

* * *

 

 

_There’s fear and darkness all around you! That juvie asshole’s on the run!_

_No use hidin’ in your walk-in oven! I’ll take you to prison ‘cause I’m the Dawg!_

_I got some less-than-bad-ass guys and this ho—_

 

            “Hey!”

 

_\--to help me! That’s why I didn’t have to pay them fifteen bucks!_

_You think you got away with killing Mr. Kitty? You won’t get away from me ‘cause I’m the Dawg!_

_I am the Dawg, the big, bad, Dawg!_

_Think you got away with killing Mr. Kitty? THINK AGAIN!_

 

            “Was that necessary?” Wendy asked as I turned off the camera.

            “Don’t lecture me ‘bout how this operation works, Windy! Which one of us is the Dawg?!”

            She huffed and rolled her eyes, but at least she shut up. I looked around to the rest of the crew; on top of bringing Kenny and Butters, I also called in a favor from Earl. (Leeroy and Beth wanted raises, cheap-ass mother-fuckers.)

            “Anybody ELSE have any smart remarks to make, or can I continue?”

            Silence.

            “Good. Now let’s go through it one last time. Windy, you’re goin’ in first; sneak around to the back of the house, and use that key to get in through the back door. Find Stan and Kahl and get ‘em the fuck outta there. Meanwhile, Kinny, Butters and I will go in through the front with the sack of cash and keep Trent busy. Windy, once you get the fags out, give the signal. You remember the signal?”

            “Can’t we come up with another signal?”

            “Dammit, Windy, every minute we spend arguing about signals, Trent Boyett’s ass remains un-kicked! Once you get them out, give the signal. Once we get it, I go in with the bear mace and pin him. Kinny, yer my back-up. Butters, get the fuck out of the way and go help Windy in the back. While we’re doing that, Earl calls 911 and gets the cops in, and then we send that mother-fucker Boyett back to juvie for a _long_ -ass time. Any questions?”

            No questions.

            “Good. Let’s go with Christ, guys. And fuck Boyett’s ass up hard.”

            As everyone got into position, Wendy gave me a shove. It’s scary to think I’m getting better at reading her face, but she was straight-up giving me that ‘don’t forget blah-blah-blah’ face.

            “This crazy plan of yours better work, Cartman,” she said. “I’m kickin’ your ass if it doesn’t.”

            “Windy, if yer gonna be a part of this group, you gotta learn some things. One, Kyle is a Jew-rat that is never to be trusted. Two, Butters is a pussy and it is always okay to wail on him. And three, Eric Cartman’s plans never fail.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “You sure about this, Cartman?”

            “Y-Yeah, Eric, ma-maybe I b-b-b-better go help Wendy with the--”

            “Oh, hold it together, you two!” Still, not like I could totally blame ‘em. My hands weren’t exactly steady, either. But there was no way we could back out of it now.

            “BOYETT! Get out here, you son of a bitch!”

            A few minutes later, out he strolled - Trent Mother-Fuckin’ Boyett, looking just as big and dumb and ‘shut up ‘fore I tear your balls off with my bare hands’ as before.             “Well, well, if it isn’t three of my five least-favorite faggots.”

            “Nice to see juvie hasn’t treated you well, asshole.”

            “Where’s my money?”

            Kenny held the bag up. (It was supposed to be Butters holding it, but little pussy bitch kept dropping it.)

            “Where are Stan and Kyle, dickface?”

            “Inside. Give me my money and maybe I’ll let you see them.”

            _Bzzt._

_“I think I’ve found them! Just gotta find the key to this door...”_

            Unfortunately, Trent caught on to our wires. “Hey, what was that?”

            I coughed loudly to try and throw off his trail. “What was what now? I think that was just my sweet theme music.”

            “No, I definitely heard that! Is this a fuckin’ set-up?!”

            “Aw, sugar, he’s onto us!” Butters yelled.

            “God-dammit, Butters!”

            _Bzzt._

 _“Donkey boner!!”_ Thank fuckin’ Christ, Wendy, could you BE any slower?

            “Donkey boner, donkey boner!” I called out. Before Trent could figure out what was going on, Kenny and I tackled him to the ground. Butters shot the hand signal to Earl, then took off for the back of the house to help Wendy.

            Once we had him pinned, I shook up my can of bear mace.

            “Say hello to mah little friend!” I yelled before spraying it straight into his eyes.

            Unfortunately, I miscalculated that Trent Boyett wouldn’t have just bear strength; he had ‘ten years of juvie’ strength. He took the bear mace on the chin, and despite screaming and not being able to see, he still managed to throw me off. Once I was out of the way, he sat up and grabbed Kenny by the neck. Without even breaking a sweat, he _snapped_ Kenny’s head around and threw him aside and left him for dead.

            “Dammit, Kinny! Why you always gotta pick the worst possible times to die?!” I yelled at him. Seriously, that kid can’t do anything right.

            “Yeah, and you’re next, Cartman!” Trent snapped.

            I tried to use my incredible Dawg strength to wrestle him off- but let’s just be real, guys, Trent’s bigger than the five of us combined. I haven’t spent the past ten years of my life in juvie. He got on top of me and pinned me down, and now it was _my_ neck he had his rough-ass hands around. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK._ Me dying wasn’t part of the plan! Kenny’s one thing, but me?!

            But as usual, Trent Boyett doesn’t fuck around.

            “Vengeance is mine,” he sneered, right before going in for the kill--

            “Ack!!”

            Until a black-haired bitch in a purple coat jumped on his shoulders and started strangling him back. Wendy got her hands tight around his neck, pressing in just the right spots until he couldn’t speak and his face started changing colors.

            “You fuck with my boyfriend, you fuck with me, Trent!” she shrieked. “And no one fucks with Wendy Testaburger!”

            He hit the ground and was just about to black out, right when the police sirens showed up. So I had to get up and pull her off of him. As much as I _wanted_ to see Boyett dead, I wasn’t about to let Wendy sabotage the mission by _actually_ killing him.

            ...Still, it was kind of cool to watch. She’s got a hell of a death-grip for someone so puny-looking.

 

* * *

 

            Butters was basically grounded the second the cops left, so he didn’t make it to the hospital with us. The police hung around and questioned us for fuckin’ _ever_ before they finally left. Kenny and Bebe stopped in (guess he wasn’t dead too long) before they had to go run off and do the show or whatever. Once they all left, it was just me and Wendy; not lookin’ at each other, not sayin’ anything, just sitting and waiting.

            She looks pissed. She’s probably mad I didn’t let her kill Boyett on the spot. And the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t just let her. I could’ve gotten them BOTH locked up for life! No more Wendy messing my plans! The fuck was I thinking?!

            Fuck it. This whole day’s been making my head hurt.

            We finally saw Stan and Kyle when they brought him up to a room for the night. Christ, did Kyle look terrible. (And if the fact I _wasn’t_ waiting for Kyle to die a horrible, painful death didn’t prove something was wrong with me, nothing would.) Stan was right there by his side, right up until Wendy got up and dragged him over to come talk to us.

            “Stan, are you okay?”

            “Yeah, _I’m_ fine, but I have to--”

            “Kyle’s going to be fine, just come--”

            “Does Kyle LOOK fine to you?! Wendy, please, I--”

            “I just want to make sure you’re okay, Stan!”

            “Well, I’m not, okay?! I have to go, Wendy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something.”

            He shoved her off and then ran into Kyle’s room, shutting the door behind him.

            “Well, _that_ was kind of a dick move,” I couldn’t help but notice.

            “I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Wendy said. “He’s… probably just stressed out from all of this. I think we all are.”

            I’ve seen Wendy stick up for Stan _a lot_ over the years. (Let’s be honest, the kid’s done some fucked up shit.) Nothing ever gets under this girl’s skin - trust me, I’ve tried - but whenever Stan pulls that shit, she just gets this sad look on her face like… like…

            Fuck it, my head’s killing me. I am officially too tired for this shit.

            “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I told her before getting up.

            “Why?”

            “What, you wanna stick around in a hospital waiting room all night so Stan can ignore you? I’m going to get food; this whole Trent clusterfuck made me miss lunch and I’m starving. Now are you coming or not?”

            Dunno why I offered. Especially since she shot me down once already. Much less why I was expecting her to just go for it.

            ...But that’s what happened. She got up and followed me out the door. “Yeah, on second thought, some KFC sounds pretty good right about now.”


	15. Stan- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and Anonymous Void.   
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**XV.         Stan- Spring**

_**In which Stan decides to be honest with himself.** _

 

          I've been in too many near-death experiences to count at this point.

            In all those experiences, I’ve kinda grown to appreciate my friends more and more. However there was something about that ambulance ride that was… I don’t know, _different._ Holding Kyle’s hand as we rushed for the hospital, hoping he hadn’t lost too much blood, not taking my eyes off of him for a second like his life depended on me being there… It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. All of it was just a haze of white noise.

            We eventually reached the hospital, and I kicked and screamed all the way back to my room when they had to rush Kyle into surgery. They eventually had to tie me down so I wouldn’t take off running to go look for him. When my parents and everyone else finally showed up, I curled up under the blankets and pretended to be asleep. I didn’t want to deal with them.

          I didn't want my parents putting on happy faces for me.

          I didn't want Cartman taunting me.

          I didn't want Wendy coddling me.

          I didn't want Kenny asking questions.

          I didn't want Butters spewing shit 'bout how lucky I am to be alive.

          I want Kyle to be awake.

            I want Kyle to be here.

            I want…

            No. I _need_ Kyle to be okay.

            I want to hear him worry about having to make up homework in the hospital; hear him whine about his jewfro being exposed without his hat to cover it up; hear him stress about the future and freak out about his parents who are freaking out about college; hear him make snide retorts when Cartman tries to push his buttons, and yell at Kenny for doing the musical just for free blowjobs. I want to see him get into the conversation. That’s when he starts talking with his hands, and you can see the energy move through that tall, lanky body of his, and you see the flecks of hazel light up in his big, green eyes.

I listened as everyone started letting themselves out. Eventually, the last door slammed and someone turned out the light. Now it was just me, alone with my thoughts. And all of those thoughts were focused on Kyle.

            I wanted to go to sleep and wake up in his bed, like this whole night was just a terrible dream and we’ve actually been having a sleepover the whole time. I wanted to wake up with my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and that light snoring he makes when he’s dead asleep. I wanted to feel that wild hair of his between my fingers; or even better, to take his hand and feel his soft, thin, pale fingers against mine.

            I wanted Kyle.

            And the more the words rattled around in my head, the more I could feel my heart fluttering in my stomach. I couldn’t even force the sounds out of my throat the first few times I tried to say it out loud. But it had to come out. I couldn’t fight it anymore.

            “I’m in love with Kyle.”

            “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

            I bolted straight up and glanced over. There was a smirking blonde in an orange parka curled up in the guest chair shoved off in the corner.

            “Kenny, what the fuck?! I thought all of you left!”

            “We did. I came back in just to see if you woke up. Saw you fidgeting around under there, so thought I’d hang around for a bit.”

            If I weren’t still tied to the bed, I would’ve run over there and strangled him. But then I thought about it for a second, and Kyle came back to mind. “Wait, did you go check on Kyle? How’s he doing, is he out of surgery yet?”

            “Yeah, he got out of surgery a while ago. Don’t know if he’s up yet, though.”

            “What room is he in?”

            “Like two doors down the hall, why?”

            I tossed off all the blankets and started tearing at the bed restraints. Yes, Kenny started looking at me like I was an overdramatic psychopath, and no, I didn’t care.

            I _had_ to see if Kyle was all right.

            With Kenny’s help, I got the restraints off and found Kyle’s room. (And no, I didn’t notice nor care about the fact I was wearing nothing but my boxers and a hospital gown.) I opened the door and peeked inside, and as soon as I saw Kyle was sitting up and awake, I ran in and threw my arms around his neck. Fingers in his hair, tight as I could hold him, I didn’t care - so long as he was alive.

            “Dude? You’re kinda choking me.”

            ...Okay, maybe I overdid it a little bit. “Oh, sorry.” I backed up a little bit and gave him some room to breathe. “I’m just… glad you’re okay, that’s all.”

            “Yeah, glad to see you’re okay, too.”

            I shoved his hair out of his face to get a good look at it. He was smiling, but it was that forced smile he always puts on that screams, ‘I’m really glad we’re both alive but can we go home now because I haaate hospitals.’ Still, it was good enough for me. It meant Kyle was better than alive; it meant he was okay, that he was still himself.

            “Uhm, sorry, s-should I leave?”

            I didn’t even notice that Kyle had a visitor. And it wasn’t either of his parents or Ike, which was a little odd. It was some girl in nurse scrubs, about our age; she was wearing one of those volunteer badges. She had really frizzy, mousy brown hair, and was biting her lower lip like she was nervous about something.

            “Oh, no, it’s okay!” Kyle assured her. Then he turned to me. “Stan, you remember Rebecca, don’t you? Mark’s little sister?”

            I must have made some kind of face - I actually _didn’t_ remember her right away - because she freaked out and got even more nervous. She started looking at her feet and tapping her fingers together, then quickly stammered out, “I-I’m really sorry to you, too, Stan! I-I was just telling Kyle about h-how sorry I am abou-about what happened. I-I was unaware th-that my b-behavior was i-ina-inappropriate, b-but I just- I just didn’t know o-or really under-underst-tand how t-t-to act and--!”

            “Hey, it’s okay.” Kyle waved her closer and put a hand on her arm. He gave her a smile and chuckled and whatever else he did, it worked: she calmed down almost immediately. “You don’t have to keep apologizing to everyone, Rebecca. We were little kids, everyone does stupid shit at that age.”

            She smiled back and as the two started chatting again, I finally remembered where we had seen her before.

            Rebecca Cotswolds. Mark Cotswolds’s home-schooled little sister who became a massive slut and tried hooking up with half the guys in school.

            The same Rebecca Cotswolds that Kyle used to have a massive crush on.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Dude, Tobey Maguire was _clearly_ the better Spiderman.”

            “Yeah, but the Andrew Garfield movies are the better Spiderman movies!”

            “Kinny’s got a point, Tobey Maguire’s kind of a pussy.”

            Kyle got the all-clear the next night, and we were back in school by Monday. It always surprises me how quickly normalcy comes back after weird shit goes down in South Park. It was just the four of us again, hanging out at lunch and arguing over stupid stuff, like nothing had happened that weekend.

            “Kyle, back me up here, who’s the better Spiderman?” I asked.

            There was an awkward silence when he didn’t answer me. We all looked over and saw him glued to his phone, smiling and laughing to himself over whatever was on the screen.

            “Kyle?”

            Kenny snapped his fingers in front of Kyle’s face. “Yo, Kyle, you alive in there?”

            Kyle finally looked up, blinking and confused like we just woke him up from a nap.

            “Huhwha? Oh, sorry, I was texting someone. What were we talking about?”

            “About how Andrew Garfield’s way too British to--,”

            “Oooh, who’s Rebecca?” Kenny teased, leaning in _way_ too close to see who Kyle was texting with. I was really hoping he wouldn’t do that. One, Kenny needs to learn to respect personal bubbles, but two… I kind of had a feeling that’s who it was. I was just hoping I was wrong.

            “You remember Rebecca,” Kyle answered quickly. Then he went back to his phone and finished typing out his response.

            “Slutty Rebecca from third grade?”

            “Yes, _that_ Rebecca. Is that all you guys remember about her?”

            “I also remember you having a major crush on her.”

            “W-Well, yeah, but come on, that was forever ago...” Kyle bit his lower lip as he put his phone down. I swear I saw his face flush pink.

            “A-Anyway, what were we talking about again? Something about Andrew Garfield being a smarmy British asshole?”

            “Spiderman’s supposed to be kind of a dick, Kahl! That’s the whole point of Spiderman!”

            For once, Kyle seemed way too happy to be picking a fight with Cartman over something stupid. I, on the other hand, suddenly didn’t care which one of them won out in the end.

            While they went on bickering, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I checked it under the table; it was from Kenny.

 

    _u ok?_

_im fine_

_u tell kyle yet?_

_no_

_what about wendy?_

 

            I glanced over at the girls’ table. As usual, Bebe was going off about something. (I think I caught something about her breaking up with Clyde.) Wendy was over there, checking her phone and probably trying to tune out Bebe’s bitching. I felt a knot sink into my stomach. Apart from sending her one quick text saying, “We’re out of the hospital, I’ll be at Kyle’s, everything’s fine,” I haven’t spoken to her since that blow-up we had in the waiting room. Not because I’m mad at her or anything - she was just worried about me, the same way I was worried about Kyle. I’ve just been avoiding it. The same way I’ve been avoiding having sex with her because I can’t get into it without thinking about someone else in her place, or avoiding being around her when I can’t deal with her being loud and social-justice-y. I’ve been avoiding _her_. I’ve been avoiding talking about _this_.

            So I took a long breath, then sent her a message:

            _We need to talk. Meet me at my place after school._

 

* * *

 

 

            My parents were at work and Shelly was off with her boyfriend of the month (or week or whoever, I can’t keep track of them anymore), so Wendy and I had the place to ourselves. She gave me a big hug and a mouth-kiss when she walked in the door. I didn’t even _try_ pretending it was Kyle that time; I just wanted to get this over with.

            We caught up on things for a few minutes, but she realized pretty quick that something was up. “Stan, is something the matter?” she finally asked.

            “Uhm… Y-Yeah, I guess. So, uhm...” I paused and pinched the bridge of my nose for a few minutes, _praying_ the words would just come to me. I never know what to say, especially not for stuff like this. I really wish I had Kyle to help me get the words out, but I _definitely_ wasn’t ready to bring this up to him yet.

            “...Look. You are an _amazing_ person, a-and anyone who can’t see that is an idiot. But sometimes there’s… w-what you might _think_ about a person might end up being not what they thought it was at all, and--”

            “Are you breaking up with me?”

            “Wendy, please, it’s nothing personal--”

            “What, did all of these last few months mean nothing to you? I thought we were getting closer, Stan, what happened?”

            “It’s just--!”

            “What, are you bored now that you’ve gotten what you’ve wanted out of me?”

            “What?! No, no, of course not! I was never out to use you, Wendy, this is totally on me! It just kind of happened and--”

            “Oh, so is there another girl? Are you _cheating_ on me? You just _happen_ to break up with me right when Bebe breaks up with Clyde and think I won’t be--?!”

            “It’s not a girl, Wendy, it’s Kyle!”

            Dammit. This is exactly the awkward silence I was trying to _avoid_. But here we were, so I figured ‘may as well finish saying my piece.’ So I took her by the hand, though I glanced off to the side to avoid the look of crying and heartbreak and confusion on her face, and I just spit it out:

            “Yes, Wendy, I’m gay.”


	16. Kenny- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my wonderful betas Lady Mayflower and AnnonimusVoid! Sorry its been a while and I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone. Thank you!

  
  


** XVI.         Kenny- Spring **

 

_** In which Kenny finds a satisfying arrangement. ** _

 

The past three or so months were actually pretty chill... Or at least the closest thing to chill that's possible for me. Dad’s off the booze (at least for now), and no one’s tried to put Karen back in the hospital. Not that I’d let them, but it’s nice that no one’s tried. Plus, I haven’t died in a while - that usually marks a good day in my book.

Only thing really going on was musical rehearsals. Specifically ‘Hell Week,’ as everyone’s been calling it. I don’t know, I didn’t mind it that much; but then again, I guess I also hate being home a lot more than everyone else, so an excuse to be out of the house all day is fine by me. Still, it wasn’t without its share of drama. (Drama in the drama department, go figure.)

It was the last day of rehearsal, and I was in the back kicking some ass on Hearthstone to pass the time during a break. I thought I was alone, but right after creaming some noob Shaman with my Rogue deck, I heard some moaning coming out of the janitor’s closet. Which, granted, has been happening every day since we started rehearsals, but this was different.

“Oh, yeah, right there, Miranda~”

It was different for two reasons. One, that sounded like Clyde Donovan. Two, Bebe’s name isn’t Miranda.

I strolled past the door (Clyde’s always the worst at remembering to  close  it first), and caught a glimpse of the girl playing Rapunzel giving Clyde a hummer.

Yep. Drama in the drama department. Nothin’ new there. There was always somebody cryin’ about something back here; today’s meltdown was just going to have to come from Bebe.

Word travels at light-speed backstage at a school musical. Sure enough, I found Bebe curled up in the makeup room not two hours later, head in her arms and crying into the table. I didn’t want her to think I was being creepy or anything, but I also couldn’t stand seeing her like that, so I eventually sat down next to her. “You want me to go kick him in the balls for ya?”

She didn’t look up, just sniffled into her arm until she could answer me. “Wendy’ll handle it for me when she gets back from Denver.”

I tried to think of something -  anything  \- to say to make her feel better, but I couldn’t come up with anything. So I eventually settled on wrapping an arm around her, the same way I do for Karen whenever she’s upset. It didn’t seem to help after a few minutes, so I was about to just get up and leave her alone. Then right at the last moment, she threw her arms around me and buried her head in my shoulder.

“Why would he do that to me?!” she bawled. “I thought everything was fine! It’s not like I stopped putting out, so what the fuck happened?!”

“Nothing happened. Clyde’s just an idiot. And kind of a dick. Whatever, his loss.”  I added hoping it would make some kinda difference. 

“Oh, yeah, some loss. Least he still has  Miranda . Don’t even know what he sees in her, the fuckin’ prude.”

Then out of nowhere, she looks up at me with her eyes red and puffy, wiping the snot from her nose on her sleeve. “You think he did it ‘cause he got bored of just boning the school slut?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait,” I told her. “The fuck are you even talking about?”

She shot me a look. I quickly recognized it as the one Wendy usually shoots Cartman; the flat eyes and pouty lips that just scream, ‘are you fucking kidding me right now?’

“I’m not stupid, Kenny. I know what my rep is around school.”

Oh yeah. That.  

Look, I’m not gonna lie, Bebe Stevens is a blonde, real life Jessica Rabbit. She is without a doubt the hottest girl in school. But slutty? She’s not that bad, or at least no worse than the rest of the girls in school who just lie about it. (Though to be fair, it probably doesn’t help that she’s best friends with Wendy ‘Massive Prude’ Testaburger.) At least she’s honest. She and Clyde have been totally open with just about everything, going all the way back to when they first started dating in sixth grade. It doesn’t make her a slut, or at least I don’t think it does.

Besides, last I checked, the title ‘school slut’ was mine.

“Look, just ‘cause you guys do shit and talk about it doesn’t make you a slut. That’s what people do when they’re dating.  Real  sluts don’t commit the way you do.” I said with a small grin. 

She cracked a little half-smile. “Right before Clyde and I started dating, Heidi dared me to give Tweek head.”

“And you did?” I couldn’t help but laugh as she gave me a little embarrassed nod. “Dang! And I thought that boy was fidgety the rest of the time. THAT must’ve been fun.”

“Yeah, he didn’t last too long.”

Well, sharing is caring, right? “If we’re telling secrets, I only did the show for the free blow-jobs.”

“Well, yeah, duh.”

“Huhwha?”

There was the ‘seriously, are you fucking kidding me’ face again. “I’ve been a diehard musical kid for as long as I can remember, Kenny. If anything, I’m more surprised other people HAVEN’T caught on to all the subtext in these things.”

Huh. Go figure. Then again, I guess I shouldn’t be super-surprised. Bebe’s actually a really cool chick; sometimes that just gets lost with how easy on the eyes she is.

She calmed down for a little bit, and with everyone else’s rehearsals running long, we just got cozy and kept talking. Mostly about sex. (Hey, I’m not complaining.) With the way we started going back and forth, it’s like we got stuck on the topic of ‘who’s got the best sexual exploit story.’

“I gave Clyde a handjob at the movies before we started dating. I think Craig may’ve been watchin’ from the corner of his eye.”

“I got my first handjob in sixth grade.”

“He and I got bored at Kyle’s bar mitzvah, so we made out in the synagogue bathroom. I let ‘im touch my boobs.”

“You weren’t the only one. I made out with Annie  and  Kyle’s hot cousin Leah. ...Don’t tell him ‘bout that last part, though.”

“Me and Clyde did it in the showers after a football game once.”

“Yeah, doesn’t everyone know about that?”

“Oh, yeah...”

“I got my first BJ when I was ten.”

“Yeah, with that whore Tammy Warner. Everyone knows about that, too.”

“Oh, right.”

“I went over to his place early before that Halloween party. We had sex  five times before anyone showed up.”

“I lost my virginity when I was twelve.”

If we were playing ‘who’s got the best sexual exploit story’, I think that won it for me. “Wow, seriously? That’s so young!”

She paused for a long time after that. I thought she was trying to come up with something better to top that, but instead she asked, “...Who was she?”

“...Sorry, what?”

“That girl. Your first time. Who was she?”

Now it was my turn to pause. Luckily, before I had to come up with an answer, the choir teacher started yelling out in the hall. “Gather ‘round, everybody! Gather ‘round!”

So instead, I just helped her up and gave her a little smile. “I’ll tell ya later, promise.”

* * *

 

Opening night actually went pretty well, all things considered. Bebe missed a few lines, especially towards the end, but I can’t exactly blame her for not wanting to be around Clyde and Miranda. After the show, Karen and I were left on the sidewalk corner for a while, so I was letting her sleep on my shoulder. (I texted Kevin, but no response meant he was probably getting high somewhere. Mom and Dad apparently drove off somewhere the second the show ended; but to be fair, if they’re doing what I know they’re doing, I’d rather not be in the car anyway.)

As the crowds started to filter out, a pretty blonde in Cinderella make-up sat down next to me. “Hey, nice job tonight.”

“Not so bad yourself, Stevens. Ready to do it all over again tomorrow night?”

She didn’t answer. Right. Clyranda.

“Y’know, you never finished telling me that story from the other day,” she said.

“Which one was that?”

“You never told me who the girl was.”

Oh, right. I glanced over at Karen again - I know she’s older now and has probably heard way worse, but it’s still weird talking about it in front of your baby sister - but she was still dead asleep. So, in a bit of a hushed voice to not wake her up, I fessed up. “Her name was Kelly. You remember that ‘Getting Gay with Kids’ thing me and the guys had to do? That’s where I met her. Her family was in town the one day, so we caught up and talked about some stuff. Then out of nowhere, she’s like ‘hey, so I trust you a lot, and I want to get this over with, so let’s just do it.’ So we waited for my place to be empty and… we did it. Look, I ain’t sayin’ it was good, it was awkward as hell. Like, it looked like it hurt, but she told me not to stop, so we did it. I kind of wish it happened a little later, but I’m also kind of glad I did it when I did, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said with a nod. “Like, as much as I hate Clyde’s guts right now, I’m still pretty glad he was my first. It felt right at the time, y’know? I guess that could’ve been worse.” She sighed and twirled her hair around one of her fingers. “Sometimes I just wish sex wasn’t such a big deal.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. I mean, I’ll always stop when a girl says stop, but I just feel like everyone would have a lot more fun if people didn’t make such a fuss about it. Hell, I’ve probably done more hooking up than dating. Not even sure I could  handle  a proper relationship with all the shit that’s been going on this year.”

“Seriously. I know it might sound weird since Clyde and I just broke up and all, but I would really be into just doing something casual for a while before I go looking for anything serious.”

We kind of looked at each other for a second. I sure as hell wasn’t going to  say  it, but I’m pretty sure Bebe knew I was thinking it. And judging by the way she grabbed me by the hood and pulled me into a kiss right afterwards, I guess she was thinking it, too.

Beep-beep!  “Come on, Bebe, let’s go!”

Before she got up to leave, she leaned in close and whispered into my ear, in that sexy way that left her breath tingling on my skin. “Next time I need that ‘something casual,’ I’ll give you a call...”

And then she left. That was it.

Bebe Stevens just made me her new booty call.

This musical thing worked out way fucking better than I ever thought it would.


	17. Butters- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lady Mayflower and AnnonimusVoid for being awesome betas and as always I do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

** XVII.        Butters- Spring **

 

_** In which Butters makes some interesting observations. ** _

 

I’m awful scared ‘bout summer. I mean, I know it’s nice not to have school, but I ain’t lookin’ forward to when me an’ the fellas gotta testify at Trent Boyett’s trial in July. It’s been ‘bout a month since that whole bonanza kinda ended an’ things seemed to be back to normal-ish.   But then I ain’t gonna lie, some of them fellas have been actin’ awful strange these days.  

For one thing, Kyle’s been spendin’ a lot of time talkin’ to Mark Cotswolds’ little sister an’ he just seems real happy ‘bout it.  Like whenever he’s textin’ her, he starts smilin’ a whole lot, like he forgets wherever he’s at. It’s kinda cute. But then whenever Stan’s ‘round, he gets real mad about it. I mean, I know they’re “super best friends” or whatever, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kyle get that riled up when Stan does that kinda stuff with Wendy. An’ when I say ‘riled up,’ I mean Stan gets pretty riled. He won’t even look Kyle in the eye when Kyle quits payin’ attention to him. He just kind of pouts ‘n gets all mad.

It’s the same kinda look Clyde’s been givin’ Bebe ever since they broke up. He’s been a mess about it, but Bebe seems like she’s doin’ pretty good. She’s smilin’ a lot more, that’s fer sure. Kenny is, too, now that I think about it… I guess everyone’s a lot happier nowadays!

My last dance recital was right ‘round the corner, and I was feelin’ awful jittery ‘bout it. I missed the last one ‘cause I was recoverin’ from gettin’ stabbed. And not only was I out of practice, but my folks said they were gonna go watch this one. I normally don’t get jittery ‘bout people watchin’ me dance, but… w-well, what if they tell me I can’t do dance no more after they see it? I know I ain’t wearin’ a tutu or nothin’, but what if they think it’s too girly? How would I tell the girls if that happened?

I sent Kenny a text. I couldn’t sleep. He didn’t answer me, so I figured he was in bed and would get back to me in the mornin’. Then about a half-hour later, I heard somethin’ tappin’ on my window. It was Kenny! So I opened up my window real quiet and let him in. (I had to just kind of hope my parents were dead asleep and couldn’t hear him come in.)

“Sorry if I woke you up,” I made sure to apologize.

“Nah, it’s cool, I was havin’ a dull dream anyway,” he chuckled as he took a seat at my desk chair. “So… is everything okay?”

I looked down at the floor. “Yah know ‘bout how I do dance? An’ got that recital comin’ up an’ all?”

“Yeah sure, what about it?”

“I-I mean... I-I guess I’m kinda scared. Like, what if my folks gets suspicious or somethin’ an’ don’t let me do dance anymore…or ground me forever? An’ the others on the team… what if they think I’m just some creepin’ deviant?! Or—?”

Kenny was suddenly right in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders… Boy, I had no idea how much I was shakin’…

“Butters, breathe.” I took a few slow breaths as Kenny continued, “Look, Butters, if your parents do anythin’ to yah, yah know you can always reach me… As for the rest of the team, I’m sure they’ll still love ya just the same. I mean, they’re all friends with Wendy, right? There’s gotta be some Social Justice Warrior in them. Why? You thinkin’ about tellin’ them?”

I didn’t answer him. I mean, yeah, I was thinkin’ ‘bout it, but every time I start, I just get all these butterflies in my belly and I chicken out. But Kenny was real cool ‘bout it, and he pulled me into a hug. “Hey, you don’t have to if ya don’t wanna. Your choice, man. But I think you’ll feel better once you get it off your chest to someone that’s not me. Plus it’d probably be good to know who’s gonna be there for ya if things don’t go so hot with your parents.”

“You really think the girls’ll be okay with it?”

“Yeah, of course.” He looked out the window for a second. “At least  someone  would be owning up to something around here.”

“You talkin’ ‘bout Stan and Kyle?” Now it was his turn to be quiet and not answer me. “W-Well, I just been noticing that they’ve been kinda weird lately!” I said real quick. “I-It just seems like ever since Kyle started talkin’ to that Cotswolds girl, Stan’s always got this real mad, sad puppy look whenever someone’s talkin’ about her, ‘n...”

Suddenly, he reached up and ruffled my hair. “Y’know, Butters, I forget how bright you are sometimes.” I felt my face flush and get all warm.

He stayed and chatted for a little while longer, then got ready to head out. Right before he left, though, he looked back at me like he forgot somethin’. “By the way, Butters, I’ve been meaning to ask. You thought about pronouns yet? Figure it’s about time I address you proper.”

My heart did a little dance and my face got hot again. “Y-You should probably keep with he ‘n him ‘round the other fellas, least ‘til I tell everyone. But… you c’n start usin’ she ‘n her ‘n they ‘n them the rest of the time, I guess.”

“Gotcha.” He gave me a little salute, then hopped back out the window so I could close it.

Alright, so maybe Stan and Kyle aren’t doin’ as great as I thought they were. But… maybe now I can start doin’ better and smilin’ more, too.


	18. Wendy- Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to the lovely Lady Mayflower and AnnonimusVoid! And to everyone who has still been keeping up with story and enjoying it I would like to say thank you so much, there is only one section left of this fic, but there will be so much more to look forward to in the sequel!
> 
> I (still) do not own South Park, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

** XVIII.        Wendy- Spring **

 

_** In which Wendy has a headache. ** _

 

Stan’s gay.

Oh, my God. My boyfriend is gay.

I could only stand there blank-faced while my heart dropped onto the floor and shattered into a million pieces. He tried to apologize and say that we could still be friends and all of that, but I almost couldn’t hear him, I was so blown away by it. I didn’t say anything - hell, I  couldn’t  say anything. I just stormed out and rushed home, and curled up in my room like some poorly-written female protagonist in a supernatural/dystopian young adult novel.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with Stan being gay. I’m the firmest believer in LGBT and equal marriage rights you’ll ever see. I’m just still so confused, there are so many questions left unanswered! How long did he know? Has he just been leading me on? And what does Kyle have that I don’t have?

I know I’m not actually losing Stan. It just feels like I am. And it’s the worst feeling ever.

* * *

 

I tried to keep myself occupied at school the next day. Bebe wouldn’t stop conspiring about what next year’s musical would be, but at least that was a break from her ranting and raving about what a piece of trash Clyde is. (Not that I disagree with her, but still.) Classes were full of dull busywork as usual, but at least I could keep my nose buried in a book all day.

I thought when the last bell of the day rang, I had made it home free. No more classes, no more avoiding looking people in the eye, just going home and relaxing and being proud of the fact I made it through the day without breaking down into a crying, sniveling mess.

I wish I could talk to someone about this, but I don’t know who. I can’t dump my relationship problems on Bebe, not after what she just went through with Clyde last week. I can’t talk to Stan, so God knows I’m not going to Kenny or Kyle or Butters - especially not after the ride they’ve been on with the whole Trent thing. Everyone else has someone to open up to; why not me?

“Yo, Testabitch, where you goin’?”

Oh, no. “Home, what does it look like?” I said, my grip tightening on the straps of my backpack. 

Raising an eyebrow with his arms crossed over his chest he said, “You  do  know we have our last debate meeting today, right?”

Oh, fuck, I almost forgot. “Oh, right. Sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Instead of leaving or cursing me out some more, Cartman just gave me a weird, confused look. “The fuck’s yer deal today, Windy?”

“What do you mean?” 

“No snappy comeback? No calling me names? Hell, you’re not even trying to melt my face with your feminazi vision. You runnin’ a fever or somethin’?”

I almost told him. There was actually a part of me that wanted to start running my mouth, to break down crying and just get all of this off of my chest. Luckily I stopped myself. I really need to stop spending so much time with this kid. So instead, I toughened up and straightened my back and shut my locker. “Stan and I broke up,” I told him simply. “End of story. I’ll see you in the debate room in a few minutes.”

He didn’t argue it further, thank God, so I made a turn like I was heading to the bathroom. Instead I ducked behind a corner and resisted the urge to go curl up in the janitor’s office and start crying. I just wanted to go home. And if I was willing to look to Eric Theodore Cartman for my fuckin’ sympathy, then this breakdown was suddenly a lot worse than I thought it was.

I grabbed a quick drink at the water fountain, then headed towards the debate room. Just a quick debate meeting, right? Some ‘good job, team’ talks and a rousing speech about how we’ll get them next year and we’re done, right? I could handle that.

Then I ran into Stan and Kyle.

Pinching his nose Stan exclaimed, “Dude, why are you busting ass for this girl anyway?”

“Why are you making such a big deal about it?” Kyle asked, his brow flexed as he shut his locker. 

“Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Stan cried out, un-pinching his nose giving Kyle an exasperated look. 

“That was  forever  ago, Stan, let it go already!”

I held back and watched as Stan slammed his locker shut and took off in a huff. “Well, I’m not doin’ it, dude, find someone else.”

“Stan!” Unfortunately, as Kyle and I both know, there’s no going after Stan when he’s mad, so there wasn’t anything he could but watch him storm out. “God-dammit.”

“Everything okay?” I had to ask. I know I’m still kind of upset with Stan, but… well, even before knowing what I know, it’s not like him to be so angry with Kyle.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I don’t know what’s gotten into him. You’d think he’d be happy that I’ve found someone besides him to talk and hang out with.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he looked at me like some kind of excited puppy. “Wait, Wendy, you can help with this!”

“Help with what?”

“You remember the Cotswolds kids, right? Well, I heard today that Rebecca might be starting public school here next year. I don’t want her to feel lonely or awkward, especially...y’know, last time. D-Do you think you could get some of the girls and, like, go talk to her or try to make friends with her? Just so she doesn’t feel so nervous and by herself when she gets here in the fall?”

During that explanation, Kyle’s face became red like a beet pretty quickly.  I didn’t really know what to say, so a default “sure, I guess so” kind of spilled out of my mouth before I could come up with anything better. “Oh, thanks, Wendy! You’re the best!” he said with a big, cheesy grin, right before grabbing his stuff and practically bouncing out the front door.

Except Kyle was wrong. I’m  not  the best. In fact, in that moment, I realized I was the worst.

I’ve never seen Kyle so excited about a girl. Or rather, I have, just not since the  last  time Rebecca Cotswolds was in the picture. And now I knew what he and Stan were just arguing about. Kyle had asked Stan the same thing he just asked me - to be friends with Rebecca and make her feel more comfortable. To help Kyle get the girl.

It made me realize what a hellish few months Stan’s been having. Trent Boyett got loose from juvie and tried to murder him and all of his friends. And in a few weeks, they’d have to testify against him in court, and all of them could end up in jail if word gets out about why Trent was locked up the first two times. He’s got the usual pressures of school and football and parents and all of that, and now on top of that, he has to do it without his girlfriend because he’s undergoing a sexual identity crisis.

And I’m here crying because my best guy friend decided to follow his heart instead of leading me down a loveless road. How fucking selfish.

But that’s the worst part, isn’t it? He’s going through the same thing I am. That sick feeling in my stomach when I see him talking to Kyle, it’s the same sick feeling he gets when he hears Kyle talking about Rebecca. And maybe he wants to break down just as bad as I do, but can’t because he’s too good for that and no one will listen to him. He might not still need me as his girlfriend, but I think he could still probably use me as a friend.

...Or maybe I’m just too far inside my own head at this point. Right now, there’s only one thing I know for absolute certain:

I cannot fucking wait for summer.


	19. Kyle- Sumer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my betas Lady Mayflower and Timeless Mystery. Also for those of you die-hard shippers reading this (particularly of Style) I would encourage y'all to keep reading as this is only the first of a four part series; that being said I completely understand if this plot line is not your cup of tea. So without further ado...
> 
> I do not own South Park all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone

**XIX. Kyle- Summer**

_**In which Kyle finds love.** _

You'd think between final exams and getting ready to testify at Boyett's trial (Dad says he could be tried as an adult this time instead of going back to juvie), my brain would be exploding. But there's something about Rebecca that just makes my brain slow down. It's like nothing can bother me whenever she and I are talking. Fuck, even _Cartman_ has been easier to ignore lately.

When school finally let out, I knew just texting her all the time wasn't going to do it. The first chance I got, I walked up to her house and knocked on the door. There were a few moments of silence, the clicking and clacking of a whole line of locks, but and then the door opened. I could see Rebecca, wearing a cute green sundress and nervously tapping her fingers.

"H-hello Kyle, wha-at brings you h-here?"

"Hey, Rebecca! I just wanted to come over and see you, since it's been a while."

"O-okay," she stammered, looking down for a moment before opening the door wider and asking, "W-want to come in?"

As I entered the house, I looked behind and saw the door was buried in countless locks. Must have something to do with her dad getting tied up on the flag a long time ago. Looking around, I didn't see a TV in their living room. I did see an awards shelf, though. It was hard to miss the two spelling bee trophies sitting side-by-side up there. Maybe it was just me, but the place felt uncomfortably quiet.

"So where are your parents?"

"P-papa and M-mama are in Denver for a meeting, a-and Mark is with his friends f-from school."

"Gotcha. So you wanna hang out?"

"A-Actually, I-I have to g-get some-some work done. I wa-was upstairs doing the s-summer reading."

"Oh, that's okay! We can read it together. I-If you don't mind, that is."

I thought I saw her cheeks go pink for a second before she stammered "O-Okay. M-My book's upstairs in my room, come on."

We headed up to her room, and she picked up the hardcover copy of _Wuthering Heights_ sitting on her nightstand. "Oh," she realized. "Y-You don't have your copy of the book, do you?"

"Oh, that's okay!" I assured her. "How about we just take turns reading yours aloud? That'd probably be way more fun than just sitting and reading in silence."

She looked down at the floor again, and started tapping her fingers against the cover of the book. "O-Oh, I don't- I don't know about that. I-I kind of st-st-stammer sometimes and-"

"Hey." I reached over and took one of her hands. She told me while I was at the hospital that the finger-tapping is a nervous twitch, and I figured out that she calms down a lot if you hold her hand and her arm and let her hold yours in a certain way. Once her hand stopped shaking so much, I told her, "It's fine, I don't mind. It's not as bad as you think it is. And if it's too hard for you, I can take over."

If I missed the blushing the first time, I definitely saw it this time. The pink really brings out the softness in her face. "O-Okay, if you're sh-sh-sure."

We found a comfy spot on her bed to sit, and she started reading. I'll admit, when I heard our summer reading was some super-girly Brontё book like _Wuthering Heights_ , I wasn't looking forward to it. But reading it with Rebecca, I think I could get through it. Especially if I could listen to her read it. She might be self-conscious about the stammer, but I've grown to love listening to it. There's a kind of rhythm to it, almost like a song. Or maybe it just sounds nice to my OCD because it always falls in the same places.

Point is, it's music to my ears. I could listen to her forever.

* * *

"Kyle, I'm not gonna sit through _A Million Ways to Die in the West_!"

"C'mon, Ike! I saw _Jump Street_ with the guys last weekend."

"Well, it won't kill you to watch it again! I fucking hate Seth McFarlane!"

"Oh, c'mon! It's not like it's _Family Guy_ or anything."

"Yeah, but you like _Family Guy!_ "

Ugh. Little brothers.

Mom and Dad were out on their anniversary dinner, which meant I was on Ike babysitting duty. He was 'caught up on his YouTube subscriptions', whatever that meant, so he harassed me into taking him to the movies. Unfortunately, we have the world's smallest movie theatre, so there's never much to see there. This was one of the few lucky weekends where there were a whole _three_ movies to choose from, instead of the usual one or two.

A whole line of people shuffled past us while Ike and I argued in front of the ticket office. I didn't pay any attention to them, until I felt one tap me on the shoulder. "H-H-Hi, Kyle."

I turned around and saw Rebecca, hiding behind her tapping fingers as usual. "Oh, hi, Rebecca!" I said, trying to ignore the blood suddenly pumping in my ears. "What brings you here?"

"S-Seeing a mo-movie. Th-those two girls fr-from your school invited me." I looked over and saw Wendy and Bebe next in line at the ticket booth. "Th-They seem nice."

"Yeah, they are." Guess Wendy came through for me. I'll have to remember to tell her 'thanks' at some point. I went to say something else, but got interrupted by a sharp ' _ahem_ ' behind me. Oh, right. "Oh, sorry. Uh, this is my little brother Ike. Ike, this is Rebecca. She's a, uhm, friend of mine."

The two shook hands, at least for a few moments before Rebecca pulled back and went back to her finger tapping. "So… what movie are you girls seeing?"

" _The Fault in Our Stars._ "

"O-Oh, really? So are we, what a coincidence!"

"What?!"

Ignoring Ike, I stepped into the line right next to Wendy, just as she was telling the ticket usher, "Three tickets for _The Fault in Our Stars,_ please."

"Actually, make that five," I said, shoving an extra pair of tens through the glass.

Wendy looked up, almost a little surprised. "Oh, hi, Kyle! I didn't know you were a fan of John Green..." Then her sentence trailed off as she looked behind me. Rebecca came over to join us. She glanced back and forth between us, then just kind of smiled before taking the tickets and heading back over to Bebe.

Weird.

While Rebecca and I got in line for concessions, I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket.

Ike: _I c what ur up 2_

I looked up and saw him whispering back and forth with Wendy and Bebe, who was waving her arms about something. As soon as one of them noticed I was looking, though, all three of them stopped. I should have figured then that something was up, but it didn't hit me until a few minutes later when we went to go pick our seats. The three of them found a spot in the fourth row. They didn't save seats for Rebecca and I next to them, but they did pick a spot right next to a pair of empty seats in the second row.

God-damn it. Stan's fuckin' treehouse all over again.

I had half-a-mind to storm up there and call them out on their shit, but I stopped when Rebecca just walked past and sat down in one of the two empty seats. As much I hated them for it right now, I couldn't say no to this. I couldn't say no to _her_. So I swallowed my pride (and as many nervous butterflies as I could) and sat down next to her.

"Hey, so, uhm..." I hoped making some conversation would ease the moment, at least until the movie actually started. "I… had a really good time reading that book with you the other day."

She giggled. Even in the dark theater, I could see her blushing a bit. "Y-Yeah, s-s-so did I."

"Maybe we could do that again sometime?"

She shied away a little bit, but then looked back up at me with a smile. "Okay, b-but… may-maybe you c-could read next time? I-I kind of- kind of want to h-hear you read, t-t-too. I-If that's okay."

"Yeah, that's okay." I noticed her shaking a little bit, so I held onto her arm. My heart skipped a little when she took my hand and our fingers curled together. "We'll take turns every other chapter, how's that sound?"

"I'd l-like that a lot."

"So what's the movie about?"

"I dunno. I th-thought it had something to do with Ju-Julius Caesar _,_ b-b-but Wendy said it's actually about t-two people with cancer wh-who fall in love."

Oh, great, one of _those_ movies.

Okay, it wasn't that bad. It wasn't _Notebook_ -levels of unbearable chick flick, thank God. But I did doze off a few times. Whenever I did, though, Rebecca woke me up by squeezing my hand a little bit. I always squeezed back; no matter how dull the movie was. Just being there with her made it better, even if we were just sitting quietly and watching it together.

One part did get me a little bit. I guess the leads were in Amsterdam or something, and they're at this restaurant. And they're talking about y'know, Heaven and destiny and what's the point of everything, emo-kids-with-cancer talk as usual for them. And then out of nowhere, the guy goes into this whole dramatic love declaration thing.

I don't know why - maybe it was all of the sudden talk about love - but I looked over at Rebecca. I caught her right at the moment she looked up at me. There were no words. (Well, except for the movie.) I think we both just let gravity kind of take over. Nothing else mattered; it was like the rest of the world kind of fell away in that moment. All I could really focus on was the feeling of her hand in mine, and the soft brush of her lips as they moved in to meet mine.

You'd think I was about to have a heart attack, my heart was racing so fast in that moment. But you know what? I was so happy right then and there, I probably would've been okay with it.

* * *

The next day, I went over to her house again. She was wearing a bright yellow sundress, and she wasn't hiding behind her finger-tapping as much as usual. I could actually see that cute, crooked smile of hers; and the flush on her cheeks that followed once she realized it.

It was a beautiful day out - which doesn't happen too often in South Park - so we sat out in her dad's garden to read instead of holing up in her bedroom. Just like we discussed at the theater, I took over reading for the second chapter. It's weird, but I think I'm actually getting into this book. It reads kind of like a ghost story; it's a lot better than Stan made it out to be that one time Wendy made him read it and about seven other of her 'favorite books ever'.

(...Actually, thinking about it, I almost forgot they had broken up again. This one's been… _quieter_ than their usual break-ups. Not saying it's a bad thing, it's just different. The less times Stan goes full-blown Goth kid on us, the better.)

We spent all afternoon outside, handing the book back and forth and reading, enjoying the sunshine and the flowers. We finished Chapters Two, Three, and Four; and when Rebecca finished reading Chapter Five, she put the book down and we took a little bit of a break.

"Rebecca, can I ask you something?"

"S-sure, Kyle, w-what is it?"

"Do you remember the last time we were sitting out here?"

She looked down, nervously twiddling her thumbs. Her wild brown hair fell down and practically buried her face. "Y-Y-Yeah. Y-You were telling me a-about public school, a-and then we k-kissed, a-and then I had to-to go em-embarrass myself-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." I put an arm around her waist to calm her down. "We were just kids; little kids do dumb shit all the time."

"W-Why do you ask, anyway?"

"Uhm..." Now _I_ was the one trying not to stutter and be nervous. "Well, after… y'know, last night… I was wondering if… maybe you'd like to… try that again?"

Her response was _immediate_. Before I even knew what was going on, she pulled me in close, digging her fingers through my hair like someone had just thrown her a lifeline. Not that I minded; I was too busy getting lost in the sensation of her soft, smooth lips melting against my own. I already had one arm around her, so I put the other one there, too. I wasn't planning on letting her go again, and I wanted her to know that.

When we parted for air, she rested her head against my shoulder. She dropped one of her hands down, so I picked up one of mine, and intertwined our fingers. Giving her a little kiss on the forehead, I smiled and asked, "So I guess this is the part where I ask you to be my girlfriend?"

Lifting her head from my shoulder, her chocolate brown eyes looking up at me, she smirked. "I'd hope so Kyle Broflovski." We fell into a fit of giggles as I began peppering her in kisses.

"T-There's just one thing w-we sh-should probably t-take care of first, though," she said, suddenly biting her lower lip again, yet flashing me her best smile.

"What is it?"

"I-I just think it'd b-be a good i-idea if y-you stayed for dinner b-because—"

I couldn't help but chuckle as I interrupted her with a brief kiss. "Because your parents have to see I'm a nice guy who's going to take care of you? I think I can manage that; I'd love to stay for dinner."

She let out a big sigh and gave me a tight hug to say 'thank you.' While she ran inside to tell her parents the news, I sent my mom a text message to let her know what was up. Probably should have guessed the response I was going to get…

Me: _hey mom be home late tonight_

Me: _having dinner at my new girlfriend's house :)_

Mom: _Whaaaaaat? Bubbi I'm so happy for you, but you tell that nice young girl that she's having dinner at our house TOMORROW! No excuses, Mommy wants to meet her! Have fun, kisses~_


	20. Cartman- Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my beta Timeless Mystery!  
> I do not own "South Park" all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**XX. Cartman- Summer**

_**In which Cartman has a theory.** _

" _Mahm! What are we doin' in Nebraska? I wanna go home!" Seriously, where the fuck did that bitch go that she had to leave me with the rest of the stupid family for? We only ever stay with 'em on Christmas! Of course the bitch didn't say anythin'. My stomach was bein' a bitch too so I went to the kitchen...and for some reason there wasn't any food… Fuck I woulda been relieved to see frozen vegetables at this point…_

" _Aunt Lisa! Uncle Stinky! Where the fuck's all the food!"_

_Huh. Usually they'd all be screamin' by now, but there was nothin'... even the doors were silent when the smallest movement shoulda made a creek._

" _Elvin? Alexandra? Grandpa?"_

_Still nothing… And then the lights went out without makin' a sound… I slowly walked outta the kitchen, an' into the den._

" _F-Fat Bob? You there?" Feelin' mah stomach get light I was gonna call for Uncle Howie… until I remembered he was still in prison, Christ on a stick!_

" _Yah guys! I'm seriously! I-if this is your idea of a surprise birthday party- Weak!"_

_Suddenly, I heard something. Kinda like a whisper, but also kinda like a growl. And also kind of...weirdly familiar?_

"Errrr-iiiiic..."

 _Oh, hell no. Oh,_ HELL _no. Fuck that shit, I am so out. I'm not dealing with this Kayako Saeki bullshit!_

_I ran for the front door, but it was damn locked. Is mah family tryin' to kill me?_

"Errr-iiiiiic… Come to my rooooom… the others won't caaaaaare…"

_Fuck_

_shit_

_fuck_

_shit_

_fuck_

_shit_

_I bolted upstairs and leaned against the railing to catch mah breath… There was no way in fuck I was gonna be left alone with-_

" _This is our seeeeeeecreeeeet Errrrr-iiiiiic…." Hearing the voice in mah fuckin' ear made me scream like a pussy an' ran into the room with the first open door. I had to use mah big-bonedness to block it, but everyhin' was hurtin' all over an' it didn't help that I was cryin' an' bein' a pussy, but was it too much to ask that this bullshit stop!?_

_To him I guess that's a yes_

_And all the while, the voice kept getting closer and closer, and I lost mah hold on the door, somehow lettin' mahself get pushed to the ground where I seemed to be uanble to move..._

"Errr-iiic… Don't telllll them, Errr-iiic… Don't tell our seeeeecretssss..."

Suddenly, something latched onto my face! I started shrieking and swiping at it, yelling at it to fuck the hell off-

"Mew?"

And then I looked. It was just Adolf poking me with his stupid, little, kitty paws. "Fuck off, pussy," I snapped, putting him back down on the floor. "Don't do that shit again." Stupid cat. Stupid dream.

I took a glance at my phone. 6AM. _Fuck._ I tried rolling back over to get comfortable again, but I couldn't force my eyes to stay closed. Somethin' about that dream wasn't gonna let me go the fuck back to sleep. So I hauled myself out of bed and grabbed Adolf and my phone and headed downstairs. Watching TV usually gets my mind off of stuff. (And Mom's not home anyway - _again_ \- so not like I'm bothering anyone.)

God, this summer has _sucked._ Seriously, why does God hate me so much this year? The fuck did I do to deserve this fuckin' injustice? I'm _supposed_ to be getting a shit-ton of presents and stuffing my face with chocolate cake, not having to deal with courtroom drama and getting fucked by some cheap-ass Jew lawyer. I don't even get to practice-debate with Wendy to give me something else to do. Every time I see her, she's all depressed over that break-up with Stan. She always gives me her 'I'm fine' bullshit, but she's a dirty liar and we all know it. I can't pick on her when she's like this, it's not fun. I just wish she would fuckin' deal with her problems instead of crying in her room all day and writing trash in her diary or whatever the fuck girls do when they're being bitches.

...Hmm. Note to self, find out if the Testabitch actually has a diary.

I got bored of the Terrance and Phillip reruns that were on, so I started flipping channels. I landed on the news for a second, just long enough to catch a glimpse of juvie hall… or at least what _should_ have been juvie hall.

" _Tom, I'm standing in front of what used to be the Park County Juvenile Correctional Facility. According to witnesses, the wreckage you see behind me was the result of a terrorist bombing. New evidence is surfacing that this was actually an attack by ISIS, extremist Muslim group that's been causing massive havoc in the Middle East and the singular biggest threat to our nation since Donald Trump's new hairpiece. There were no survivors amongst the felons residing at this facility, including three-time offender Trent Boyett, who was scheduled to go on trial in the coming weeks. We'll be bringing you more updates throughout the day. Back to you, Tom."_

Now you'd think I'd be fuckin' celebrating right now, right? I should be sending texts to everyone, calling Mom to tell her my birthday's un-cancelled and we're goin' to Casa Bonita, why not, great news, right?

Except I'm not stupid like the rest of South Park. _What the fuck is ISIS doing here?_ ISIS?! Really? _That's_ the story they're going with? Yeah, sure is fuckin' convenient, isn't it? That the biggest terrorist organization on the face of the whole planet just _happens_ to come over and attack America, and _just happens_ to pick a little useless town in Colorado, and _just happens_ to blow up the juvie hall that _just happens_ to have Trent Boyett in it, and _just happening_ to do it just in time to save our asses from trial.

Then again...weird stuff _does_ happen in South Park a lot, doesn't it? In fact, I think I'll add another weird thing to the list.

I think tomorrow, I'm going to pay Wendy Testaburger an unexpected visit.


	21. Stan- Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: References to mild alcohol abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special thanks to my beta TimelessMystery!
> 
> I do not own South Park or "Stan's Song" from the movie, all rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone.

**XXI. Stan- Summer**

**_In which Stan laments, "There's my friend that I love"_ **

The moment I heard Boyett got blown up, I felt a huge weight lift off my chest, making my sigh of relief feel like a lifeline.

The only downside?

The force of an even bigger weight continued to increase with every moment spent with Kyle.

At this point I'm amazed my stomach hasn't burst from all the fucking butterflies.

I've been breathing more often to keep myself cool so I don't keep flying off the handle every time Rebecca comes up. I mean she's probably an ok human being, but what the fuck makes her so special? I mean aside from hospital volunteer crap, she's just some brainiac who doesn't completely understand sarcasm or how to talk to people in general. Other than that, there've still been moments where it's just the two of us, like always.

Its almost like things aren't _too_ different. Sure, he does spend about half his time with Cotswolds, but we still sleep over at each other's places and shit. Though, whenever that happens I always find myself torn between staying up and watching him sleep; being completely at peace, or wrapping my arms around him, letting myself fall asleep to the rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his heartbeat... It's not like he'd suspect anything there... We've woken up from these sleepovers before with one of us sprawled over the other or grabbing onto the other before. But he'd freak out if I got morning wood from it or some shit...

In the end I resort to watching him sleep until I feel my eyes get heavy from looking at his thin lips, fighting the temptation to press my own lips against them.

* * *

 

"Stan."

"What?" The disturbance nearly made me jump as I found myself sucked out of the movie we had been watching on Kyle's laptop when it was hot as hell outside.

He paused the middle of an intense battle sequence, moving his laptop to the other end of the bed before pulling in his long legs. After biting his lip and looking at the ceiling for a few moments he turned to me, "I know you don't like talking about it, and that you're probably still getting over Wendy, but... I kinda need your help... I'm gonna ask Rebecca to homecoming when school resumes."

I forced a lump down my throat. I wasn't going to let him see I was choking up as my left hand clutched the sheet and I said, "I-I mean... me and Wendy didn't go to homecoming 'cause of my birthday overlapping, but aside from CD mixes, I remember getting Elton John to sing that song I wrote for her when we were eight... It was during that concert thing we did for Chef…"

"Oh yeah, Chef."

We stayed quiet for a few moments as soon as Kyle made note of that detail.

" _I definitely coulda used Chef's advice in this point in my life... If only it weren't for that damn cult."_

Suddenly, I felt Kyle's long fingers on my shoulders, turning to face me with the look he gets when Cartman takes a sick day from class.

"Stan! I think you just gave me an idea!"

Forcing a laugh, I smirked, "Don't tell me you're gonna write another shit song and call her fox,"

"Okay dude, that was a long time ago! And I thought it made sense to call her a fox at the time because I overheard my parents..." His face turned red as he put his face in his hands when the horrifying realization of what he probably heard dawned on him.

"That's not important! I guess it's just that if I am gonna go that direction, I could use your help... I mean again I know you and Wendy broke up so I guess I can understand why you're not very..."

"There's nothin' I wouldn't do for you man, you know that." I clutched the sheet closer against my chest. I began cursing myself for letting the words fall from my mouth, but the smile on his face made that regret go away, if only for a split second. A shiver went down my spine when I felt his hand touch my shoulder once more, hoping I wasn't blushing or anything like that. Before I knew it, I was pulled into a hug... Something Kyle doesn't initiate too often...

"Thanks Stan, I love you dude."

My heart began to twist, to the point of breaking in two, with those words playing in an eternal loop in my head.

Those same words ended up being the soundtrack of the dream I had that night: where he had his arms around me as I kissed him softly like we had all the time in the world and passionately like it was the end of the world…and he kissed me like I was the only living thing that still mattered. I only wished to melt into him more and more. As soon as he was deeply asleep, I let myself shed silent tears.

* * *

 

Not long after Kyle went home the next morning, I swiped two cans of Budweiser, and went back up to my room to drink myself into my own world where Kyle's words ran deeper than they did, and I'd be able to say it back the only way I could ever mean it.

"There's my friend that I love... Now it appears that he loves someone else. It must be because she's super smart like him, but I was the one always there for him."


	22. Kenny- Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I do not own "South Park" since all rights are reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone. Once again a big thank you to TimelessMystery my wonderful beta!   
> Enjoy! :)

**XXII.    Kenny- Summer**

_**In which Kenny makes a promise.** _

 

I often wonder why the fuck I get to deal with people's personal shit.  I care 'bout my friends and all, but the more secrets I know of them, the more I kinda wanna bitch slap 'em.

Correction:  There are usually one or two points in my day that I really want to and sometimes I even  _ actually _ slap Fat-Ass (mostly when he goes on 'bout my family being poor as shit). 

Recently, I've come close to wanting to hit Stan, and Kyle... Let's just say after that talk with Butters it was nice to know that I wasn't the only one who could see how obvious Stan was bein' around Kyle these days. The fact that Kyle and Rebecca act like they're the only two people on the planet around each other is the only excuse for Kyle not to notice Stan's behavior.

However, I had not problem forgetting about those dickheads the moment I stepped into Bebe Stevens’ house. We gave each other a quick smirk as she took my hand and slammed me against her closed bedroom door with her tongue in my mouth, not taking long for me to get hard against her already wet pussy (what can I say, we’re horny teenagers). At the end of every week came the saving grace known as sex with Bebe (came... That's what she said...). 

The first time was after finals.   She sent me a text saying her parents were goin' out for a couple of hours.  Upon arriving at her place, she led me to her room and as soon as the door was locked, clothes were shed in seconds and we spent the next hour or so talking about random shit or watching MTV in between fucking.

God if this continues into school pickin' up again I'll probably finish half the Kama Sutra with her.

We were both gasping for air after she had finished riding me like a cowgirl on a rodeo horse.  With silence still between us, I slowly sat up to grab a tissue and remove the condom so I wouldn’t have to be the one to speak first.  The sex itself is fun, but afterwards is just… weird… 

Just as I left her bathroom to return to the bedroom, she had already been sitting up speaking on the phone with Wendy (seriously, doesn’t she have a posse to talk about whatever kinda shit she’s probably bitchin’ ‘bout?). Me and Bebe shared a knowing nod as I sat at the bedside for a moment before getting my clothes back on.  It would be in those moments that I would begin thinking about what woulda happened if... I shook away the thought... no way in fuck I was gonna even think about it...   


After leaving Bebe's house one afternoon, I dug through my closet to find a worn out costume, covered in question marks that was now probably a few sizes too small for me.

I'd have to give Butters a call soon... They were  always the best with sewing machines and whatnot.

* * *

 

Once I was absolutely positive Mom and Dad were more or less asleep, I knew it was time to begin my mission. I kept my face hidden by the branches as I looked to the window and saw Karen shedding quiet tears, as she sat up clutching her ragdoll and Olaf plushie tightly against her chest.

I tapped against the window and she snapped out of her reverie, only for her to have the suddenly look as though she’d seen a ghost… correction:

“Guardian Angel? Is that you?” I heard her from the behind the window she was unlocking, her smile turning her tears into those of joy.

Once the window was fully opened, she immediately wrapped her arms around me tightly, grabbing the cape in her hands while she shed a few tears into my chest. Brushing my fingers through her hair I listened, “I-I’m sorry… I know I said I was gonna be a big girl, b-but its just so hard y’know? I only got Kenny, an’ you, an’ Ruby, an’ I sometimes hear from Kevin, but he just goes away a lot and doesn’t stay long...A-and…”

“Shh…shhh…breathe Karen,” I let her hold on to me and describe all the crap she’s been dealin’ with while tryin’ not to cry too much.

“Karen, I’m gonna tell you somethin’ an’ I want yah to listen carefully, can you do that for me?” She nodded, pulling her face away from my chest and wiping her nose.

“Things happen in this town… crazy things… And as long as that kinda stuff keeps happenin’, I want you to know that I will always look after you, but I also want you to be able to protect yourself in case anything happens and I don’t make it soon enough…”

“Huh?” she asked jumping back, her eyes wide.

Resting my hands on both her shoulders, I looked her deep in her eyes reassuring, “I never stopped watching over you Karen… but I just want to be extra sure that you’re safe, do you understand?” she nodded, without a word. 

Just I was about to leap back into the night, I felt a pull on my cape, Karen giving me a pleading look saying, 

“Before you go I want yah to promise me something,” 

“Anything,” I said with no need to think about it.

She held out her right pinkie, and as I reciprocated she said, “You must promise me that you’ll never ever go away  _ and  _ that you will tell me who exactly you are.”

Okay I wasn’t expecting that last part.  I swallowed, to keep myself from making any noises that would give away my usual voice.  Clearing my throat I continued, “Why do you want to know that?”

She gave a small smile, “You don’t have to right now, just maybe before I’m done with middle school or somethin’. Whenever you wanna really… I just wanna be able to thank you is all… you’re awfully kind…” I gave her a quick hug, pulled away from her, and looked her in the eyes; while crossing our pinkies as I exhaled, “I, Mysterion, promise to always be there to protect and watch over you Karen McCormick  _ and  _ that I will one day tell you who I am, when the time is right…pinkie promise?”

She squeezed her pinkie with my own as she giggled, “Pinkie promise, Guardian Angel,”

 


	23. Butters- Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "South Park". All rights reserved to Trey Parker and Matt Stone and thank you so much to my beta TimelessMystery! I cannot believe this is the penultimate chapter! Do not fret though, stay tuned for sequel and happy reading! :)

**XXIII. Butters- Summer**

_**In which Butters is a little hopeful** _

 

"Yah sure yah wanna do this?"

"Yeah, but it's more like I gotta do this before I go crazy..."

"Okay, let me know how it goes, break a leg," Kenny said, running his hand through my hair.

Feelin' Kenny's hand in mah hair made me blush for a moment, but I didn't care if he saw or not.

The backstage dressing room filled real quick.  When I saw everyone there, I began to feel my stomach twist in all sorts of directions and an awful lotta big butterflies. Mah hands were starring ' to shake as I slowly walked up to Bebe and cleared my throat, hopin' to get her attention while checkin' her makeup.

She suddenly gave me a big smile as she turned over to me in her seat, those big blonde curls in a high ponytail, tamed by hairspray.

"Hey Butters, what's going on?"

"Uh... Aw jeez..."

I felt my legs shakin' causin' me to bite my lower lip.  Lookin' a little away from Bebe I stammered, "B-before we go on... There's... Th-there's somethin' I gotta tell y'all a-an' if I don't say it now I dunno..."

I jumped a little when I felt Bebe's hand on my shoulder as she asked, "Want me to ask everyone to sit?"

I nodded as I sat in the empty chair next to Bebe's, while she called out for everyone on the team to come back and sit, so I could speak.

With all 'em starin' at me with their big eyes, I felt somethin' blockin' my voice box, like I couldn't speak.

Then I thought 'bout Kenny sittin' out there... He'd probably wanna see me smilin', all happy, not scared for my life... I gulped, chugged on my water bottle then let out a breath, lookin' at my twiddlin' thumbs as I explained everything, from my parents to how I never really fit in completely with anythin' considered normal, in a binary sense.

They were all awful quite for a long time. I began to shake a little as I stammered, "P-please don't tell my parents, they'll ground-,"

Suddenly I was being squeezed from a bunch of hugs like some big teddy bear.

Pulling back, Bebe smiled, "It's all good Butters... You'll always have us... Right girls?" She turned to the rest of the team, who gave me smiles.  

Then we were told it was time to get to our places for the beginnin’ of the performance. In the back, my parents were probably judgin' the way I went about every little choreographed move... I felt like if I wasn't careful, they'd suddenly know everything from a darn plié... But seein' Kenny an' his sister in the audience, helped. As soon as I think I saw Kenny smile, I couldn't help myself.  Smiling at him in return felt like all I needed to do to let him know that things were, in that moment, okay.


	24. Wendy- Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "South Park" (c) Trey Parker and Matt Stone. Thank you so much to the following people: Lady Mayflower, Timeless Mystery, and TEP Redux who have all at some point been incredibly wonderful in their feedback and criticisms throughout the process of this first fic of this four part series! Also thank you Google Translate for being helpful, even though there's a pretty great chance the Arabic sentences are incorrect. Most of all though thank you to everyone reading this and keeping up with this story, y'all are awesome and stay tuned for the sequel: "Conscious Incompetence".
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy!

 

**Chapter XXIV. Wendy- Summer**

**In which Wendy puts someone in checkmate**

With what Ms. Claridge knows, what Kenny yelled to Trent, and the fact that they would've probably let him out again in another four or five years, I knew what had to be done.

I consider myself a good person and with that, I'd say my reasons are more justifiable in this case of revenge than in ones out reasons as stupid as... Well what I'm trying to say here is that what Kyle told me was wrong, absolutely wrong.

I am nothing like Eric Cartman.

Though I guess like with the Tenorman incident, this also required careful planning.

I promised myself I'd never do this again. Last time my parents found out because while I love Bebe, she had to let it slip to her parents, who called mine. I spent half the summer seeing a shrink in Denver about my "irrational behavior" and to get to the root of my "budding instability". I cooperated knowing that what I did to Ms. Ellen was wrong.

But one: I was eight, I didn't know any better and two: I felt my relationship with Stan then was being threatened and did what anyone else would've done.. If anything, I actually ensured the security of our relationship would be absolutely certain.

Funny considering he likes guys... Well a guy, but that's not what's important here.

Either way I managed to get in touch with some old connections. I was surprised by how simple it was to make plans with the people there after not speaking for six years. Granted, it took a while for Hakeem's guys to swipe the necessary explosive prototypes from a lab somewhere in the Middle East (he wouldn't say which country)..

With Dad staying at school later for his students' mandatory review sessions, it being the week before exams, and Mom juggling two house showings and City Council, I had no problem going out to meet Hakeem at what used to be SodaSopa. I made it clear that we could not be within any noticeable range of "Historic Kenny's House" (you'd think they'd have taken that down by now..)

" _Salaam sadiq qadim_ ," I greeted him. Adjusting his sunglasses he approached me and asked, " _Hal ladayk almal,_?"

I silently handed him the briefcase I'd been hiding in the back of my closet. He accepted, which was my cue to head home as I told him, " _Shukran_."

* * *

 

My heart was racing so fast I was surprised it didn't jump right out of my chest, as I landed on my feet, sneaking out the window; letting the adrenaline carry me into the woods. Going up the hill overlooking the outskirts of town, I stood and saw the juvie hall.

Almost immediately I heard a few distant screams, gunshots, and the sound of "Allahu Akbar," followed by the night being lit up by a mushroom cloud of fire and smoke.

I almost wanted to touch the embers landing towards me, so I could feel the success on my own fingers. I had to hurry home soon, but I grabbed a handful of rubble and ember that was dancing to the ground, within reach. I looked down at it as though that were Trent Boyett.

I was unable to hold back the grin spreading across my face, chuckling as I threw the bunch of rubble on the ground and stomped on it. I had to run when I began to hear sirens. It's a good thing my parents are heavy enough sleepers that they won't notice the shower being on the moment I slide back in through my window. 

* * *

 

I had the house to myself that day. Mom and Dad were out with friends so I stayed home and flipped through the channels. I nearly jumped out of my own skin when I heard something like a fist banging the door followed by, "I know yer in there ho!" The surprise quickly wore off as I stood up rolling my eyes.

"The hell do you want now Cartman..." I muttered as I opened the door to see him trying to stare me down like I either stole something from him or as though he were giving me the same look he would give an opponent during cross examination, his brown eyes focusing in on me like I was being analyzed in every little twitch or blink.

When he still said nothing, I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed, "What do you want Cartman?" He suddenly unfroze for a brief moment, before looking toward me once again. Clearing his throat, he pulled out today's issue of the South Park Journal with the headline, "BOYETT TRIAL CALLED OFF AFTER ISIS BOMBS DETENTION CENTER; NO SURVIVORS".

Biting back a smirk, I looked Cartman in the eyes and said, "And?"

He lifted a brow with his hands in his pockets, failing to hold back his trademark wicked grin, "I'm not stupid Windy..."

I couldn't help laughing as I smirked, looking away from him as I let my favorite words fall off my tongue, the feeling of doing a victory lap racing in my mind. "Oh Cartman... You of all people know better than anyone else..."

I looked in the direction of the general area where the detention center used to be, letting my eyes grow big, pride swelling my chest, heart pounding as I cackled, letting the laugh that followed carry a maniacal tune, "Nobody fucks with Wendy Testaburger, ever!"


End file.
